


A Simple Plan

by BananaLoaf



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Revenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaLoaf/pseuds/BananaLoaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'A Simple Lie'!</p>
<p>A plan is needed to take down Marchal for good. Time is running out, and nobody is getting anywhere. A dangerous option is the only one they have. </p>
<p>Please read A Simple Lie first, this will make no sense!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well here we go! If I'm going to do it I need to do it now, while it's still in my head. Please let me know if you like it, or if you have any requests/suggestions of what you would like to see in this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Banana x

It had been ten days since D’Artagnan’s rescue, since Athos’ close brush with death, and since the musketeers had begun planning their best way of getting to grips with Marchal and his dreadful business once and for all. Every day Treville, Aramis and Porthos sat in the captain’s office: making plan after plan, coming up with new strategies, throwing out old ideas that were going nowhere. They were working in circles.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

Every day D’Artagnan had spent at Athos’ side: helping him when he needed to get up and move; reading to him or talking to him when he was bored, or when he was extremely grumpy (which was often); but most of all keeping him away from the garrison until he was in a fit state to actually be of use. Of course Athos had wanted to get back to work immediately, but D’Artagnan kept having to reassure him that nothing would be done without him, that Porthos and Aramis were perfectly capable of making plans with the captain. That he couldn’t lead any of them anywhere if he died of exhaustion.

He didn’t take any of it lightly. In the end D’Artagnan had taken to taking the musketeer’s boots with him when he left to fetch something, or when he reported to the barracks to get involved in the latest stage of the plans.

Four days ago, he had taken Athos outside for the first time, with the purpose of getting him some fresh, and shutting him up about being stuck inside for so long. D’Artagnan hoped that it would also prove to the stubborn man that he was not quite fully recovered, which proved to be the case when after an hour Athos needed the support of an arm from his companion to make the journey home.

Today he was insistent that he was going to try again.

“I’m really not sure you are as ready for this as you think you are.” D’Artagnan handed him his boots reluctantly, standing back and watching as he pulled them on from his place sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m perfectly fine D’Artagnan. I am going to the barracks today, even if I have to go barefoot.” He raised an eyebrow at the young man, who was eyeing him with concern as he finished getting ready. The boy grinned cheekily at him at the mention of the frequently-hidden footwear, delighted with himself that he had found a way of making Athos obey his wishes.

“Fine. But the minute you start to feel tired we come back here, alright?” D’Artagnan folded his arms stubbornly against the look of derision that was sent his way. He was aware who he was speaking to, and that he was ordering him around, but he was speaking to him as a friend, a close friend, and as of late, his nurse. “I’m serious Athos! You weigh a ton, no way am I carrying you back here. I’ll just leave you where you fall.”

“Good. I’d rather be where I can be useful than be stuck in here any longer.” Athos was suddenly aware that he sounded like a petulant child, but he was indeed fed up with being reined in, being stuck in his house and being of no use. He needed to be at work; when he had nothing to do he brooded, and that never ended well. Although he had to admit, he hadn’t being doing much of that since being stuck here. Perhaps the fact that D’Artagnan had been aware of his past since the fire was why the boy had stuck around and kept him distracted. The thought filled him with a curious sense of disappointment.

“It hasn’t been that bad, has it?” D’Artagnan asked the question quietly, with a touch of trepidation to his voice. Athos got the feeling that this time they had spent in this room over the past couple of weeks had been important to man in front of him. Stiffly, he pulled himself to his feet and clasped D’Artagnan’s shoulders, ignoring the look of worry that etched across the boy’s face as he winced at the movement.

“You’ve kept me sane, you’ve kept me sober. I thank you for it, truly.” He gave the boy the warm smile that seemed only to be kept for him.

D’Artagnan beamed back at him, delighted. A smile that lit up his whole face, that spread a warmth through Athos as he saw the genuine happiness that accompanied it.

“But I must do something. I need to know what is happening, and I need to be part of the plans.”

“I know,” D’Artagnan sighed. “But just tell me when it gets difficult, alright?”

“I will. We know all too well what happens when difficulties are kept to ourselves, don’t we?”

A blush crept over D’Artagnan’s face as he remembered the dressing down he had received from Athos when he told him about the situation with his mother. He had been angry at the sharing of worry, angry at D’Artagnan’s mother for making him feel bad, but mostly he had seemed hurt that D’Artagnan hadn’t felt he could talk to him. He hid it well, but the young soldier could see it behind his eyes as he had blazed his fury at him. Now he nodded his acknowledgement.

“Let’s go.”

“Did you tell Aramis and Porthos you were hoping to come back today?”

“No. I still wasn’t sure if I was going to be given permission to put my boots on today, so I thought it best not to.” The dry humour in Athos’ voice made D’Artagnan smile once more as they slowly made their way down the stairs from the rooms, and out into the street.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

As the two men left Athos’ lodgings and headed towards the garrison a few streets away, Aramis and Porthos were sitting glumly at their usual table in the yard, pondering the latest plan to get to Marchal.

“What do you think?” Porthos was the first to speak.

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But it might work.”

“And it might be a huge disaster.” Aramis picked up the jug on wine on the table in front of them and poured them both some. It was barely lunch time, but today there was a need. He sighed. “I just don’t know whether we have any other options at this point.”

Both musketeers had been working tirelessly for the last week and a half, interrogating Marchal’s men from the docks, questioning people in the streets and bars. They had followed a lead to a family whose daughter had gone missing some time ago, but the family had moved on and no neighbours had anything of use to tell them. They were getting nowhere fast, and they needed this dealt with before anyone else was taken and experienced a worse fate than D’Artagnan. Before Athos got himself too involved and got himself hurt again, one way or another.

“We need to speak to him about it.” Porthos accepted his wine and drank deeply.

Aramis snorted. “Which one?”

“I say we go with the easiest one first.”

“Why isn’t Treville doing this exactly?” Aramis was indignant.

“Because he thinks it will have more impact if we suggest it.”

Aramis shook his head. “No. It’s because he doesn’t want to be the one who gets punched.”

“Aramis! Porthos!” They heard D’Artagnan calling them and turned towards the gate to see him waving at them as he walked through, smiling. A satisfied-looking Athos was at his side.

“Shit.” Porthos spoke quietly to Aramis, before both men rose from the table to greet their friend and welcome him back with a handshake. Athos gripped both their hands tightly, letting them know how glad he was to be back with them, how grateful he still was for all they had done, no matter how many times he had thanked them in person when they visited.

The four of them walked back to the table but had barely sat down before Athos was ready to get down to business.

“So what’s happening? Do we have a plan?”

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, each willing the other to be the one to speak. Porthos lost the telepathic battle.

“Well, as a matter of fact there has been suggestion of some sort of, um, plan.”

“Which is?” Athos heard the hesitation in the big musketeer’s voice and was instantly concerned.

“We were just discussing it as a matter of fact, discussing whether it has merit or not, weren’t we Aramis?”

“Indeed we were. You should know that while we consider it as one of very few options we have left, neither of us are happy about it.” Aramis looked both D’Artagnan and Athos in the eye as he spoke, making sure they knew he was sincere.

“No.” Athos spoke quietly, but he suddenly gripped onto the table, his knuckles instantly going white. 

“It’s our only option at the moment.” Porthos shrugged apologetically, his voice sad.

“Athos? What is it?” D’Artagnan was alarmed at the sudden grey pallor of the musketeer’s face.

Athos ignored him. “No! We find another way. Not again.” He glared at the two men across the table from him, not wanting to look at the oblivious man who sat by his side.

“Porthos? I don’t understand. What’s going on Aramis?” D’Artagnan was beginning to panic a little. Neither of the men in question answered him, both just looked at him with a mixture of guilt and sadness on their faces. He turned to Athos, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “Athos? What’s wrong?”

Athos’ head dropped to his chest, his grip on the table not weakening as he took deep, even breaths. Eventually, he lifted his head, turning to look at the confused and concerned face that was peering at him. He turned away, glaring once more across the table before the answer came out as a growl.

“They want you to try and get yourself taken again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are really reading this quickly! Thanks!
> 
> Hopefully you'll enjoy this too...

Silence fell over the table for a few moments as all four men took in the magnitude of what had just been said. Athos’ grip on the table did not lessen, while Aramis and Porthos both stared unhappily into their wine, ignoring the penetrating glare being aimed at them by their friend. They completely understood his anger, having gone through the same emotion when Treville had first broached the idea earlier that morning. That didn’t make their feelings of sadness and guilt any easier when Athos spoke the idea aloud.

D’Artagnan honestly didn’t know what to think. He was torn between concern and wonder at Athos’ reaction, and descending into a mess of horror at what had been suggested. He realised the other three were waiting for him, waiting to hear his reaction. He refused to show his fears; he was going to be a musketeer after all.

“Fine.” As he spoke he felt a wave of fear crash over him, just as Athos’ fist crashed onto the table, making all three men jump. A group of musketeers who were passing paused for a moment to stare, but moved on quickly on seeing the expressions on all four faces.

“I said, no.” Athos spoke quietly, but inside his head he was yelling. He had to maintain control, not least because the tension in his body was beginning to cause horrendous pain in his side.

“It’s fine Athos, I’ll do it. If it’s the only plan we have, then...” D’Artagnan tried to keep the fear from his voice but he knew from the expression on Athos’ face as he turned to look at him, and the way that Porthos and Aramis looked up at him instantaneously, that he had not hidden it well.

“You do not have to agree to this.” Porthos’ voice was serious. “It’s just the latest in a series of plans all of which have come to nothing.”

“D’Artagnan?” He turned to look at Aramis when he called on him. “The captain just asked us to inform you that we are thinking about it. But if you do not want to do it, you do not have to.”

“Yes I do!” D’Artagnan let his voice betray his emotions as it burst out. “I do have to do it. If we still have nothing, no way of ending this, then how can I possibly say no?” It was his turn to bang a hand on the table before him.

Aramis reached across the table and rested his hand on top of D’Artagnan’s. “No, you don’t have to do anything. Like we said, it’s just one possibility.”

“It’s probably nonsense anyway; I mean how could we even make sure they took you?” Porthos’ voice was soothing, but D’Artagnan stared at him evenly.

“Because we know I fit the list, don’t we? What are the chances he’s found someone else to kidnap to order since last week? And found someone else who fits the order as ‘perfectly’ as I apparently did? None. I have to, and we all know it.” He saw the resigned expressions on both faces and knew that he was right. Options were limited, and right now they were limited to one. He turned once more to the man beside him. “Athos, I have to.” 

Athos shook his head tightly. He didn’t speak for fear of letting go of the pain that was now shooting through him. He knew he needed to relax his body, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let this happen either.

“Athos? Are you alright?” Aramis was round the table instantly, a hand laid on his friend’s back, the other on his chest. “I need you to breathe for me Athos, just breathe. Lean forward, I need to lift your shirt to check your injury.” 

At the pained look on the patient’s face Porthos stood and came round the table to join the others, standing in place behind Athos to make sure that he was fully protected from prying eyes. No one needed to see any sign of weakness in him. 

“Breathe Athos, now please.” Aramis slapped him sharply on the back, causing him to let go of the breath he had held since the start of the pain and take a deep, shuddering breath, ending in a grunt of pain.

“Bastard.” Athos glanced down at Aramis, who grinned back at him from his place crouched by Athos’ side.

“Works every time. It would be much easier of course if you would just admit when you were in pain and breathe through it like a normal person, but oh no, big tough Athos would rather hold his breath till he passes out.” Aramis pulled his shirt gently out and lifted it to look at the still red and raw looking wound that graced his friend’s side. “Now hold still, this is going to hurt a bit. Porthos, your turn to hit him if he stops breathing.”

Gently, Aramis prodded at the wound, checking that nothing had moved or torn inside. Athos hissed out a breath, bowing his head to his chest. D’Artagnan, now straddling the bench beside him, leaned forward and gripped his hand under the table before resting his chin on his shoulder and whispering quietly to him. He didn’t think for a second what he was doing, it was second nature to offer comfort and he didn’t stop to think what Athos or anyone else would think. Porthos noticed the gesture and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“There. No harm done.” Aramis let Athos’ shirt fall back down his side and stood up.

“Time to go home I think.” D’Artagnan stood and looked expectantly at Athos. The musketeer raised his head and looked at the boy with a clear ‘I don’t bloody think so’ expression on his face. “You promised, now it’s time to go.”

“You really should rest.” Aramis agreed.

With a sigh, Athos rose slowly to his feet. “Fine. But we are not finished talking about this. I will rest today, but tomorrow I am back, properly, and we will come up with a proper plan. One that is not likely to kill one of us.” He gave Porthos and Aramis each a glare before stepping out from the bench, tucking his shirt back in. He turned to D’Artagnan. “I suppose you will be accompanying me home?”

“Absolutely.” The Gascon folded his arms firmly. Not a chance was he letting him out of his sight after that.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

D’Artagnan looked a little surprised at the lack of objection, but Porthos and Aramis smiled after them knowingly as they walked out of the yard.

“He’s not going to let him go until he agrees to refuse the plan, is he?” Porthos said.

“Nope,” Aramis sighed and slumped back down at the table. More wine. Now.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

Athos decided to stay quiet on the journey home, to give himself time to think about how he was going to do this. D’Artagnan assumed that he was quiet because he was still in pain, so he didn’t push him to talk. Athos was never much of a talker to begin with, but this they needed to discuss. It was only fifteen minutes or so before they reached Athos’ rooms, but by the time they reached them they were both far too aware of the silence and tension that ran between them.

D’Artagnan stepped ahead to open the door, stepping inside and holding it open. As Athos walked through and past him to head up to his first floor rooms D’Artagnan glanced at him, noting the serious expression on his face, and sighed. He had a feeling their conversation was not going to go well.

Athos pushed open the door to his rooms and headed for a chair next to his small table. He threw his hat on the table and sat glaring at the door, waiting for his young friend to come through it. He was taking his time. Eventually, his face appeared at the door.

“Um, you need your rest, so I’m just going to...”

“Sit down.”

“Athos, you...”

“I’m fine. Come and sit down please.” Athos gestured to the other chair that was next to his and waited while the boy took a deep breath, entering the room and closing the door before moving over to join him.

“Don’t you think you should go to bed?”

“I said I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes at the look he received. “Honestly, I’m alright. We need to talk about this, don’t you think?”

“Why?” D’Artagnan felt himself tensing up.

Athos spoke quietly, but firmly. “You cannot accept this as an option D’Artagnan. We are not sure what Marchal is capable of, or what could happen to you before it was time to rescue you, again.”

“Nothing would happen that hadn’t before! They had instructions to keep me in one piece, remember?”

Ignoring the shudder that ran through him, Athos tried another tact. “I want you to be honest with me, will you do that?”

D’Artagnan looked deeply into the eyes of the man who brought out such a confusing level of admiration in him, and spoke from the heart. “Always.”

Athos paused for a moment, taken aback slightly by the serious look on the younger man’s face. “Do you want to do this?”

There was a brief pause before D’Artagnan fulfilled his promise with a whisper. “No.”

Relief flooded through Athos, but it was quickly snuffed out when D’Artagnan rose to his feet and began pacing, his voice rising and betraying his apprehension.

“But that doesn’t matter Athos! What matters is stopping Marchal, stopping anyone else getting taken, anyone else getting killed like Jacqueline!” He stopped when he saw Athos flinch and sat himself back down at the table. “I’m sorry. But I have to do this. If it’s our only option, then it must be done.”

“Have you forgotten what happened with Vadim?”

D’Artagnan reeled back as if Athos had slapped him. “Is that what it is? You think I can’t do it? You think I have learned nothing since then! You still don’t trust me!” His tone was accusing as he rose to his feet once more.

“No D’Art...”

“Yes Athos! You think I am still the naive boy who arrived here all those months ago!” He was shouting now, his heart laced with disappointment. “I cannot believe this. I thought I was proving myself to you all.”

“No!” Athos shouted too as he rose to his feet and stood nose to nose with his angry friend. “That is not what I meant!”

D’Artagnan avoided his eyes, desperate that the musketeer should not see the depth of the hurt that laced his. He had no desire to answer any awkward questions. He was unprepared for the hand that grabbed his chin and lifted his head until they were looking each other in the eye once again. Athos was still angry.

“Have you forgotten that you almost died D’Artagnan?”

“Of course not! But I’ve learned Athos! I can do better. Why can’t you trust me?”

“And why can’t you see that I am trying to keep you alive because I cannot bear to lose you?” 

This last was spoken softly, but honestly. D’Artagnan’s eyes widened briefly as he took it in. After a moment, he grinned and shook off the hand that still held his chin, reaching instead with both of his own hands to touch the face before him; the face that was filled with disbelief at what it had just said, but also with an expression that gave D’Artagnan no reason to doubt the sentiment behind it. He pulled Athos’ head forward and gently rested their foreheads together. He watched as Athos smiled a little, before sighing and closing his eyes. D’Artagnan let his own eyes drift shut.

“Now that I will see.” He whispered.

They stayed like that for several minutes, neither wanting to break the peace. Eventually, Athos lifted his head, opening his eyes and waiting for D’Artagnan to open his. He placed his hands on the younger man’s waist, pulling him gently closer. Neither of them blinked as their heads slowly moved towards each other, each making sure they were correct in the other’s feelings, until at last their lips met in a chaste but warm kiss.

Athos pulled back. “D’Artagnan?” He grinned and spoke briefly before crushing their lips back together.

“You’re still not doing this.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter, but necessary fill before we get stuck in to the adventure side of things! Let me know what you think please! :)

D’Artagnan woke the next morning facing a wall with an arm firmly wrapped around his waist and his legs clamping another in between them. For a moment he was confused as he tried to get his bearings, until he felt the arm squeeze his waist slightly and a kiss brush the back of his neck.

“Morning.”

D’Artagnan grinned as he leant back into the body that lay behind him. “Morning.”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. A tad warm perhaps.” He realised that Athos hadn’t caught the teasing tone in his voice when he felt the man pull away slightly and the arm begin to slide away from him.

“Sorry.”

D’Artagnan quickly grabbed the receding hand, clamping it back round him and interlacing their fingers. He twisted his head to face the ceiling, sliding his eyes over the look at Athos. He grinned. “You should’ve let me undress us, as I suggested. I told you we’d regret it in the morning.”

Athos felt his body sag a little with relief as he realised he was being teased. “And I told you when we finally went to bed that it was late and we had to get up early.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the younger man’s cheek and tucked his head into his neck. He spoke softly against D’Artagnan’s skin, making him shiver. “And besides, was I not supposed to be resting?”

Immediately, D’Artagnan let go of Athos’ hand, turning round carefully to face his...what, lover? “I’m sorry, I never thought. Are you alright? Do you feel ok?” He placed one hand on Athos’ face, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb.

Athos stilled the movement with his own hand. “I feel fine. Good, even.” He couldn’t help but return the grin that spread over D’Artagnan’s face, before he found a pair of hands threading through his hair and a pair of warm lips claiming his thoroughly. He pulled the other man closer to him with a hand firmly placed on his back, smiling as he elicited a groan from D’Artagnan and felt the hands tighten in his hair. After a few moments Athos broke the contact, watching as D’Artagnan regained his breath and opened his eyes to smile happily at the musketeer.

Athos sighed and pulled himself up. “Come on. I don’t think today is going to be an easy one, so we may as well get started.” He felt a hand pull his gently as he went to stand.  
“No matter what happens today, I will do what must be done.” D’Artagnan waited for Athos to turn and look at him sadly then squeezed his hand. 

“I know. And I will do all I can to make sure you don’t have to.”He squeezed back momentarily. “Now move. You need to go home and make yourself presentable.”

D’Artagnan huffed and puffed as he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, pouting slightly as he stood face to face with a laughing Athos. He went to speak, then froze as he realised that this was the first time he had heard Athos truly laugh. Instead he remained silent, reaching up to cradle the beautiful face in both hands, pulling it down to his for a chaste kiss that echoed their first from the night before. Pulling away, he spoke in a whisper. “It’s nice to see you smiling Athos.”

“And who would not be smiling, with such a pretty face as yours to look upon?” Athos said, dryly.

D’Artagnan nearly exploded. “Pretty?! I’m pretty?!?”

Athos laughed and shoved him towards the door. “Yes, you are. Now go! Be back in fifteen minutes.”

D’Artagnan was still spluttering indignantly as he ran down the stairs and out into the street. He ran all the way to the Bonacieux residence, quickly realising that he was grinning to himself like lunatic for most of the journey.

He didn’t care.

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Porthos and Aramis were already in Treville’s office when D’Artagnan and Athos arrived. By the serious look on the face of all three men as they walked through the door, Athos quickly realised that they were going ahead with this horrendous idea.

“D’Artagnan. I understand that you are aware of the plan?” Treville was all business.

“Yes sir.”

“I am sorry, but as we have no other options at this time we must press ahead. You understand?”

All four men were now standing before the captain’s desk. Both D’Artagnan and Aramis felt Athos tense up immediately in between them.

“Yes sir.”

“Captain, I believe this to be a foolish plan. I can see no sense in putting one of our men in danger when we have no information to ensure that we will be able to recover him.” Athos kept his voice steady.

“I’m aware of the problems Athos.” The captain sighed inwardly. He had been expecting objections from his best officer. He was never happy with a plan that put anyone but him in any danger. He was extremely protective of his men, and seemed especially protective of this boy that had joined them. 

“Then why...”

“We have no other choice!” Treville stood to bring him to eye level with his musketeers. He held up a hand as Athos went to speak. “It is an order Athos, and you will obey it.”

Athos stiffened. He had never disobeyed an order in his life. He was going to be forced to break his promise to try and save D’Artagnan from this. He bowed his head half-heartedly in acknowledgement, glaring profusely at the captain before marching from the room, letting the door bang loudly and causing the others to flinch.

Treville sat back down. “Your orders for today are to work out how we are going to do this, with minimal danger to all concerned. We must begin tonight.” He gestured to them all that they should leave, calling D’Artagnan back at the last moment. 

“Your first job is to talk to Athos, bring him round. You are going to need him.” 

You have no idea how much, he thought, before heading out and following the others. When he reached the top of the stairs he saw that his friends were sitting once again at their usual table. Athos with his head in his hands, and the other two were speaking quietly to him. Suddenly, Athos’ head shot up and he started talking feverishly to the others. Confused, D’Artagnan made his way over to join them, taking his spot on the bench beside Athos. They all glanced at him but continued talking.

He tried to follow what was happening, but soon got lost as the three men began making plans. He sat quietly for ten minutes, listening as they talked about watch detail, protection detail, what musketeers they were going to include in the job, and so on. His mind drifted as he watched Athos taking charge. All at once he realised everyone had stopped talking and were staring at him.

“What?”

“I asked if you had anything you wanted to add.” Porthos was looking at him with a smile on his face.

“Um, no. No I’m fine.”

Aramis was smiling at him too. “Did you even hear the first part of the plan?”

“Of course I did!” D’Artagnan stood up, embarrassed that his mind had been wandering. He fought down a blush as he realised what, and who, he had been thinking about. “I’m just going to get some, eh, some lunch. Yes, lunch, for all of us.” He walked quickly away. It was only a matter of seconds before he heard footsteps following him. 

“Wait up! I’ll help.”

He stopped and waited for Porthos to catch up.

“You alright D’Artagnan?” The two men started walking together, out the gate of the garrison to buy some food at a nearby inn.

He shrugged. “I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem a little distracted. Are you worried about tonight?” Porthos kept his voice light.

“A little.” D’Artagnan knew that honesty was the best policy with his friends. They always found him out in the end. “But mostly I was just a little confused. I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands to get Athos to agree, but you had him talked around in about two seconds!”

“Ah, never underestimate the importance of an old friendship! We know how to push his buttons.” Porthos noticed D’Artagnan’s expression turn a little sad and wondered briefly about the moment he had witnessed the day before. He stopped and pulled on the young soldier’s arm to make him pause also. “If you must know, we pointed out that what you needed was him with his business head on. We suggested that it was the best way to, uh, keep you alive.” He watched as D’Artagnan’s face settled into an expression of calm and acceptance, before a bright smile crossed the young man’s face and he moved off briskly once more.

“Come on then Porthos, we better feed everyone if we’re going to get ready for tonight.”

The big musketeer just shrugged and followed him. This boy was all over the place, and he was damned if he was ever going to be able to figure him out. 

All Porthos knew was that they were heading into very dangerous territory, and he would do everything in his power, along with his fellow musketeers, to keep him alive and safe. For a start, he wasn’t sure he could deal with Athos if anything went wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next three nights the same pattern was followed. D'Artagnan returned to the inn he had been taken near before, drinking alone and rebuffing any attempts by anyone to make conversation. The three musketeers sat in the same places: Athos in a quiet corner, half-hidden in darkness, Aramis in the shadows inside the door to the innkeeper's home, both keeping a steady eye on D'Artagnan and anyone who looked in his direction. Porthos was hidden discreetly in an alley nearby, in a place that D'Artagnan would have to pass him as he left to make his way home, along with anyone who may follow him. For all three nights nothing had happened. Each night they had all waited for the allotted time of fifteen minutes after D'Artagnan had left, watching for any shadows that moved after him, before taking their own leave and heading off in different directions.

Now, as with the two nights previously, Athos was pacing his room an hour after leaving his post, waiting for word that D'Artagnan was entirely safe.

This had been the hardest part of the plan to agree on. The group had split down the middle, with Aramis agreeing with Athos that one of them should make their way to D'Artagnan after an hour, just to check that no one had been waiting in the house to take him, after Porthos had watched him safely cross the threshold. D'Artagnan had pointed out that part of their plan involved keeping his connection with the Musketeers as hidden as last time, and therefore keeping them as far away from D'Artagnan's home as possible. There was no way of solving this issue, and Porthos had reasoned that the only option to keep things entirely secure was to assume that once he crossed his threshold he was fine, but Athos and Aramis had not been happy with that suggestion, and if he was honest with himself it made Porthos uneasy too.

Eventually it was decided that when he deemed it safe, D'Artagnan would send a message to Athos, with two of the stable boys from the barracks, who would be stationed nearby. Two teenage boys would be less conspicuous than a couple of soldiers hanging around. Bonacieux and Constance were persuaded to leave the city for a few days, which took some convincing on D’Artagnan’s part as Constance was of course stubborn about leaving her friend as she sensed some danger in the air.

The first night, the boys, Luc and Henry, had arrived out of breath after following the convoluted route that had been agreed on, and handed Athos a sealed, scrawled note from D'Artagnan that said: All fine. Hate drinking alone. Bed cold. Will bring breakfast. 

Athos smiled at the boys and sent them home, excusing them from early morning duties in the barracks stables, then going to bed and forcing himself to get some much needed sleep, before opening his door to a grinning D'Artagnan at dawn, and welcoming him and his warm bread and fresh cheese inside.

On the second day when they had a moment alone, or more accurately when D'Artagnan grabbed hold of Athos to steal a moment alone, the younger man insisted that they excuse the boys from their duties that night and he would just come himself. Athos forbid it, and the second night the boys had arrived with a note, just as before. 

All fine. I still hate drinking alone. Bed cold and uncomfortable. I could have been warm. 

The next day Athos stayed next to D’Artagnan all day, but was careful not to be alone with him, not giving the younger man a chance to persuade him to deviate from the plan this evening. So this night things had gone as usual. Athos had moved to another dark corner of the room, sitting nursing a cup of wine with his hat pulled down slightly over his face. He could see D’Artagnan on the other side of the room, drinking wine and trying to look like he was drinking more than he was. The innkeeper’s daughter wasn’t working tonight, and a different wench was serving drinks. This one also spotted D’Artagnan sitting alone, and went over to chance a conversation and see how far she could with the dark, handsome man. Athos nearly growled when she was allowed to linger longer than others had, and he heard her laughing flirtatiously as she reached out to touch him on the shoulder, until he remembered that D’Artagnan knew he was watching and was most likely trying to make him jealous. It wasn’t working. Really. 

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened through the rest of the evening. D’Artagnan had risked a smirk and a wink as he walked past Athos on his way out at the end of the evening, and Athos sat impatiently waiting for Porthos to come in and signal to them that all was clear. As usual the big musketeer had arrived, and as usual the three had left separately and made their way homewards.

Now time was almost up for Luc and Henry to arrive. A knock on the door sounded their arrival.

As soon as he opened the door Athos knew something was wrong. Henry was there alone, and he was out of breath and his face was battling against the flood of tears that waited in his eyes to fall. Athos grabbed hold of the boy, one hand holding his chin to make sure he had his complete attention.

“Henry, where’s Luc?” He could barely hear his own voice over the thumping of his heart beating.

“He...they...” the boy gulped for air as he tried to speak.

“Henry, I need you to calm down and tell me. Quickly.” There was no time to wait.

The boy took a few gulps of breath and spoke in a rush. “I left Luc and ran here, he told me to go because he couldn’t run anymore. They took him sir, they took D’Artagnan.”

Athos’ heart fell to his boots as he heard the news he had dreaded. Quickly he let go of Henry, grabbed his pistol and sword then ushered the boy ahead of him out of the building, propelling him in a quick march towards the garrison. “Tell me everything Henry. Now please.”

Henry told him that they had been in their usual spot around the corner from D’Artagnan’s residence, waiting to go to his windows to get their note when they had heard a commotion. They had run round the corner to see D’Artagnan being manhandled into a wooden cart. He was fighting against the three men that handled him, but he was tied at the ankles and wrists, and gagged. They threw him on the cart and left quickly. Luc and Henry had followed the cart, as quickly and discreetly as they could until they had lost it, at which point they knew they had to come for Athos.

“Were they heading towards the river?” Athos practically barked at the boy, but he seemed not to notice the overly-aggressive tone and replied.

“No sir. They were headed straight out of Paris.”

Athos cursed under his breath.

By the time Henry had finished his story they had arrived at the barracks, and Athos realised that he had moved quicker than he had in a fortnight, when he realised his side was throbbing in pain once again. Ignoring it, he sent Henry to the stables and ran up the stairs to Treville’s office and thrust his way inside, knowing that there was an extremely good chance the captain had been sleeping there. On opening the door he found the captain seated at his desk, and Porthos and Aramis slightly out of breath before him.  
“Luc?” Athos asked the question brusquely.

Porthos nodded. Aramis moved to Athos and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him calm through contact, but sharing their mutual worry through the touch. He spoke. “He arrived at my rooms a few minutes ago. He said Henry had come for you, so I got Porthos and we came here. He’s saddling up for us in the stables.”

Athos nodded as Treville stood to address them. “You leave now. It seems they are by-passing the river this time and taking D’Artagnan straight to where they want him to be. We know where they started from and the direction they took. They moved in no way to suggest they saw our lookout, so assume they don’t know they were seen. They will be moving slowly with one horse and cart with four men aboard, so it gives you time to trace them, and catch up. Do you want any other men with you Athos?”

The musketeer quickly shook his head. “We will be more discreet alone, and faster. We must leave at once.” He was very controlled as he spoke, before turning on his heel and leaving the room quickly. As he thundered down the stairs he heard Aramis and Porthos following him. He was relieved to see Luc and Henry moving into the yard, leading all three of their horses, saddled and ready to go. He paused to speak to both of them.

“We are extremely grateful for your help boys, you thought quickly and you have helped immensely. It would not surprise me if one day you will also grace the uniform of the musketeer.” The boys held back their grins of pride, sensing the strain in this great man. They watched as all three musketeers quickly mounted and cantered out of the yard, before turning and heading back to the stables.

Aramis watched Athos closely as they rode quickly through the city in the direction the boys had told them. He could see the tension rolling of his friend and knew he was reining in his emotions, but worrying about that was not his role. Porthos was watching out for that, Aramis was watching out for signs that Athos was not well enough for this, although he knew he would never persuade the man to stand aside. 

None of them spoke as they rode out of the city, looking for signs they were on the right road. None of them had anything to say, and all of them knew that they were united in their fear for their friend. They knew that time was not on their side, that they had to find D’Artagnan before he was spirited away and they had lost him. They knew that none of them would even voice that as an option.

Athos was cursing as he rode. He was cursing the plan that had gone wrong, as he had known it would. He was cursing Marchal and the sick bastards who used his services. He was cursing the captain for not listening, D’Artagnan for getting himself mixed up in this in the first place, and anyone else he could think of to share any portion of the blame. Most of all he was cursing himself, blaming himself for not noticing that the Garcon had been targeted again, for not changing the plan every day as his instincts had told him to. For caring so much that he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the road as visions of Jacqueline’s dead and abused body flashed through his mind, interchanging with D’Artagnan’s. 

He must focus, he must fight down his emotions. D’Artagnan must be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure about this chapter, please let me know what you think. Apologies for the slight delay, have been very busy and not very motivated. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies! It's been a slightly crazy time and this took much longer than expected. I will do my best to keep chapters coming quickly!
> 
> Thanks to you all for still reading! :)

Every bump and pothole in the dusty road rattled through his entire body as he lay sprawled on the floor of the cart. They hadn’t even bothered to empty it first, and something hard was digging painfully into his side as he lay still, having stopped fighting against his restraints some time ago. Two of the men had climbed into the back of the cart beside him, and one had knelt on his back to keep him still for what felt like an age. He didn’t really want to go back to that, so lying peacefully and listening carefully were his best options for now.

He had realised quickly that he was being taken out of the city rather than to the docks. He couldn’t see anything from his face-down position, but they had been travelling for some time now, and the conversation between the men beside him had confirmed it. They didn’t sound like professionals. He had a feeling that they had been hired in a hurry to fulfil Marchal’s needs after the disappearance of his other agents. He wondered if Marchal knew the musketeers were involved in that, after all nobody had been left to pass on the truth of the matter. He hoped not. The element of surprise had worked well in his favour last time.

D’Artagnan’s head smacked painfully off the cart floor as they hit a particularly large stone in the road. He bit back a groan.

“Watch it!” One of the men beside him shouted angrily to the driver. He obviously wasn’t the only one who had felt that bump. 

“It’s practically pitch black when the trees are over! Do you want to try and steer a horse and cart round some damn rocks in the middle of the night with just one little lamp?” The retort was angrier than the initial accusation. The man beside D’Artagnan just grunted back.

The third spoke calmly, the apparent leader of this mission. “We must only be a couple of miles from our rest post. Just keep going.”

So they were to stop soon, no doubt somewhere off the beaten track. He knew that his friends would be following behind by now; he just had to hope that they wouldn’t go past them and miss him all together.

With a strong sense of Déjà vu, he found himself praying that he would be found, soon.

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Aramis sent a quick thanks heavenwards that the moon was almost full, allowing them to keep a steady pace as they followed the road out of Paris towards the north-west. They were now a few miles out of Paris and had only been troubled on a few occasions by the darkness of their journey, when the trees temporarily blocked the moon’s gift of light. He was also thankful to see that Athos seemed untroubled by his injured side, although perhaps it was only his anger and determination that kept him ignorant of any pain he was in.

“Stop.” Porthos called for them to halt as they reached a fork in the road. He dropped from his horse’s back and walked briskly down the left road, looking at the tracks in the dust. Unsatisfied with what he saw, he quickly returned and took the right fork, ignoring his horse as it pawed at the ground in agitation when he passed. All three horses were skittish and anxious, sensing the feelings of the men who rode them. After a moment Porthos returned to the men, rising swiftly back into the saddle before riding ahead down the right-hand road. The others followed without question.

They said little as they rode; listening for noise of the cart they were sure to be catching up on. They could’ve started out no more than an hour behind them and as long as they had made no wrong turns, they had to be gaining on them.

Athos was trying very hard not to think too much, but it was difficult. He was now firmly in the depths of despair, imagining the worst as he had been doing continuously since Henry had appeared at his door earlier in the evening. He also found himself regretting his decision to keep D’Artagnan at arm’s length, wishing that he could’ve kissed him one more time, spent one more morning waking up with his arms around him. If anything happened he would have this to add to his list of regrets.

Realising he was getting increasingly maudlin and defeated, he gave himself a mental shake, pushing his horse on to draw up beside Porthos at the head of the their small party. “What do you think Porthos?”

“We’re definitely going the right way,” Porthos’ tracking abilities were legendary. His childhood in the court of miracles had trained him well. “There are cart tracks and they’re fresh ones, and there’s some broken foliage.”

“How far do you think?” Athos allowed Porthos’ confidence to infect him a little.

“Not far. We should catch up soon, as long as we can still see to ride.”

Athos glanced quickly at the sky and cursed. Clouds were slowly creeping in and would cover the moon if they were on the road for much longer. He knew that torches hadn’t been an option as they tried to covertly make their way in D’Artagnan’s wake, but he couldn’t help wondering if they could’ve gotten away with one or two.

He nodded brusquely. “Let’s move.” He kicked the flanks of his horse, spurring it forward as he made the decision that speed was of the utmost importance, and that the light of the moon would have to be enough to help them cope.

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D’Artagnan felt the cart turn left sharply, taking it off the road and onto rough grass. After a minute or two they drew to a halt. The men were silent as they grabbed him and lifted him from the floor. He was thrown quickly over a shoulder, and grunted loudly through his gag as the sore bit on his side hit a stud on the man’s leather waistcoat.

“Shut it! I’ll knock you out!” Another of the men whispered urgently in his ear. D’Artagnan lifted his head to glare at the man, but nodded his agreement. He had no desire to have another lump on his head. 

As the man who was carrying him started moving, D’Artagnan kept his head upright and took a quick look around him. The man carried him into a large, deserted barn, before the other two men followed with the horse they had unhitched from the cart, leaving it outside. He just had time to notice the hayloft and the lack of windows before he was thrown unceremoniously from the man’s shoulder, landing with another grunt as he slammed into the ground.

“Watch it!” The man who had driven stalked over to the carrier and grabbed him by the throat. “We don’t get paid if he’s knocked around.”

The second man pushed the hands away from him and shoved him backwards. “You carry him next time then!”

The third man stepped calmly in between them.

“C’mon lads, we only need to rest the horse here for a few hours then we’re on our way. We’ll be in Giverny by tomorrow night. We just need to keep our heads, alright?” The others glared at each other then at him, but they moved away from each other. One went to feed and water the horse, while the other went outside to collect provisions from the cart.

D’Artagnan watched the exchange with interest then pulled himself upright to a seated position as they all moved away and ignored him. He was getting really sick of being tied up and thrown around. No way was he accepting a mission like this again. Oh well, at least Athos would be happy. He found himself smiling as he thought of the broody musketeer, and the reunion he was sure they would have soon. He settled himself carefully against the wall he had been thrown against, his ear pressed to a gap in the wood, listening for hoof beats on the road outside, and hoping he would hear them before the men decided to move them.

He didn’t have long to wait.

He heard the pounding sound softly in the distance barely fifteen minutes later, and looked sharply round at his captors. All three were now sitting some distance away from him, drinking and talking quietly as they fixed their plans for the rest of the journey. D’Artagnan had to act quickly if he was going to alert his friends to his whereabouts, before the others heard the horses coming and silenced him.

He shoved his back hard against the wall, using it to push himself up to his feet. He hopped forward a few times, and the men looked up at him, all sharing a look of amusement at the poor prisoner who was trying to save himself. None of them moved. D’Artagnan hopped forward again, noticing and old scythe hanging on the wall. He shuffled sideways, hurrying now as one of them ne decided he had had enough, and purposefully fell over into the wall, making sure he scratched his cheek against the scythe as he slid down the wall. The three men burst out laughing, but stopped abruptly as he glared at them, displaying the blood that now graced his face. Immediately, the men were irate.  
“God dammit! Look what the little bastard has done; we’re never going to get paid now!” The one on his feet threw up his hands in anger, then turned to shout accusingly at one of his comrades. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

The man stood. “He was tied up, what the hell could he do to himself or to us?” He yelled back.

“That, apparently!” The first man pointed over his shoulder to where D’Artagnan stayed slumped against the wall, praying that the argument would be loud enough to make Porthos pause and notice the tracks going off the road. He watched warily as the two men continued to shout at each other, and the third looked at D’Artagnan curiously as he rose to his feet and started making his way over to him. He walked right over and crouched down beside him, looking carefully at the Gascon’s face. 

“You did that on purpose.” The man spoke softly, questioningly. D’Atagnan kept his face as still as possible, ignoring the sting across his cheek. “You little shit. He did it on purpose!” He stood and turned to face the others, shouting over their argument. Both men stopped shouting immediately and stalked over to D’Artagnan, who started worrying as he realised he had mistaken the level of their stupidity.

The man spoke to him again. “You don’t want to be sold then I suppose? Well, no matter. You’re no use to us now anyway, are you?” The man spoke calmly, before drawing a pistol and aiming it at D’Artagnan. “Much easier to just get rid of you here, don’t you think?”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened as he realised he may have just made the gravest mistake of his short life.

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Athos was the one who noticed the tracks disappearing off the road, and pulled the other two to a halt. Porthos began to speak, but Aramis quickly put his hand on his arm to stop him.

“Wait, did you hear that?” He whispered before sliding from the saddle. “I heard voices. Faint, but there.”

The other two dismounted, and all three strained to listen. A faint shout was heard in the distance. Athos nodded.

“Definitely the right place, let’s go.” His heart began to thump wildly as he withdrew his pistol and quietly made his way through the trees, keeping one eye on the tracks that were scraped through the grass. The other followed quickly, listening to the sound of the shouting getting louder as they moved. 

“Look,” Porthos pointed at the barn roof that sat above the trees around them. Silently, they made their way towards it, relief flooding each of them as it came into sight and they saw a cart hastily and carelessly hidden round the side. They paused for a moment at the edge of the clearing it sat in.

“Ready?” Aramis asked the question, but paused as the others nodded. “The shouting has stopped.”

All three looked up at the barn, at the same time as the noise of a pistol shot rang through the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Angst ahead! ;-)

Porthos was the first through the door, pistol and sword both drawn. He yelled as he ran, using the element of surprise as his third weapon. He shot directly at the first man to run at him, felling him instantly. He heard another shot behind him and saw a second man fall, screaming as he clutched at his stomach. “Thank you Aramis!” he thought. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw a figure run to the wall, recognising Athos in the movement and quickly praying that he had found something good. A third man appeared, frozen in front of him, weapon-less. Porthos stopped, holding the man at sword’s length.

Vaguely he heard Athos yelling behind him, but he forced himself to focus on the trembling figure in front of him.

“No fight in you then?” The man shook his head quickly, holding out his empty hands as if to suggest his innocence. Porthos snorted. “Good. You are going to be useful.” He used his pistol to hit the man heavily on the head, knocking him out. 

“Porthos!” he turned to Aramis when he yelled, now crouching on the ground beside Athos. “The horses. I need my saddle bags.”

Porthos nodded quickly, swallowing down the sense of dread that he felt when he recognised the tone in Aramis’ voice. He dared not look at Athos. Instead he swept from the barn, running at full speed back to where they had swiftly tied their horses slightly away from the road. He toyed briefly with moving the horses then, but cursed himself as he hesitated, grabbing the saddle bags instead and running at full pelt back to the barn.

The sight that met him when he returned almost broke his frantically beating heart.

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Athos didn’t attempt to stop Porthos as he sprang into action on hearing the pistol shot. He trusted that he would handle whatever they came face to face with, backed up by Aramis in their beautifully synchronised way of supporting each other. He had a different target in mind. Nothing was going to stop him finding D’Artagnan.

He ran in behind his comrades, stopping as soon as he was within the walls. He searched the room quickly with keen and experienced eyes, barely hearing the shots that cracked the air beside him. He glanced at the spot the first man had moved from, quickly noticing a bundle on the floor next to the wall. Quickly he strode across the room, throwing himself onto his knees next to the still bundle.   
D’Artagnan.

A pool of blood spilled across the floor next to where the boy lay, but Athos couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He heard a voice hoarsely yelling for Aramis, realising that it was him only afterwards. He lay his Gascon flat on the ground, moving him carefully. As his hands fluttered over the body, touching nothing, Aramis arrived at his side, pushing him unceremoniously out of the way and taking over. Athos watched in silence as Aramis pulled the knife from his boot, quickly cutting open D’Artagnan’s shirt.

Aramis cursed as he found the wound, bleeding profusely from his upper chest, away from his heart but not close enough to his shoulder to be entirely safe.

“Athos!” He hissed at his leader, reaching to grab his hands and stuffing the piece of shirt he had cut away into them. “Put pressure on it, now!”

Athos nodded dumbly, willing his brain not to shut down as he saw the extent of the damage that had been done. He tightened his hands on the shirt and pressed it hard into the hole in D’Artagnan’s chest, trying to swallow down the urge to vomit that had taken over him. He heard Aramis shout to Porthos and was briefly aware of the big man moving outside. He felt Aramis move from his side, but didn’t bother wondering where he was going.

Careful not to move his hands, he shifted his position so that he was kneeling again at D’Artagnan’s side. Leaning forward, he brought his head down and began to speak quietly.

“I don’t remember telling you it was alright to leave, so you are going nowhere. That’s enough now.” His tone changed as a crack appeared in his voice and he began to whisper. “Please don’t, please don’t leave. I don’t want to do this without you. You promised D’Artagnan. No leaving. Don’t make me regret you too. Please.” 

He felt gentle hands grab his shoulders, before Aramis spoke gently in his ear. “Athos, you have to move and let me in now. Come on.” Athos nodded dumbly and began to move, trying to keep his hands pressed tightly to D’Artagnan’s wounds. Aramis leaned over and gently wrapped his fingers around the hands that were now white-knuckled and beginning to stiffen, letting him know that he would take over.

Athos let go, watching as Aramis moved into the position he had vacated, quickly washing the wound with the water he had obviously gone to find, along with the bottle of brandy he placed on the ground beside them all. Neither of them spoke as they waited. Athos suddenly realised that Porthos had only been gone a minute at the most, but the wait seemed interminable. He positioned himself at D’Artagnan’s head, kneeling over him and placing a hand on each side, stroking his hair gently and continuing to whisper words of encouragement.

Aramis looked on as he waited impatiently for Porthos to reappear, suddenly understanding the depth of feeling that ran between the two men. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Athos’ heartbreak, and briefly he wondered how they could ever keep their friend alive if something was to happen to this boy.

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Tears filled Porthos’ eyes as he looked at his friends, both covered in blood, kneeling beside the body of their precious Gascon on the floor. He could see the distraught expression on Athos’ face as he whispered and stroked the boy’s hair. So he had been right. There was love between them.

Quickly, he moved to join the group, shoving the saddle bags at Aramis, who immediately got to work and started barking out orders.

“Porthos! Thank God. Take over here.” Aramis began to rummage in his bag as he moved out of the way and let Porthos take his turn. The other two didn’t speak as they watched him fish around in his bag, before pulling out a needle, thread and a small knife. 

Athos felt nausea rise up again as he realised that Aramis intended to dig out the shot. He averted his eyes and took deep breaths, never stopping his comforting strokes of D’Artagnan’s hair.

Porthos sat back when instructed, relinquishing his firm hold over the wound and letting Aramis at it with his knife. He reached out to squeeze Athos’ shaking shoulder.

“Got it! Porthos, again please.” 

Positions were retaken briefly as Aramis uncorked the brandy and threaded his needle. It wasn’t long before he was moved away again, as Aramis leaned in to wash the wound with the alcohol and began to sew in earnest. Porthos glanced to his right and noticed the grey colour of Athos’ face. The big musketeer gently laid a hand on D’Artagnan’s forehead and began to stroke it gently. 

“Athos? We’ve got him. You need some air.”

“What? No, I...” Athos looked at Porthos, startled at the suggestion he should move. Porthos just nodded at him.

He glanced at Aramis when he too spoke. “Get some air, we’ll be here.” Athos made the mistake of looking at Aramis’ hands and for the third time felt bile rise up forcefully. Normally blood never fazed him, but seeing D’Artagnan’s blood all over Aramis’ arms did not sit well with him.

Reluctantly he ran for the doors, throwing himself outside and vomiting heavily into the grass. Once he had regained control of his breathing, and his stomach, he moved back to the doors to go back in, but as he lifted his hand wipe his brow he caught sight of the sickening amount of blood that covered them. His knees gave way and he found himself on the ground, hands pressed into the dirt as he tried to pull himself together. He was ashamed of the weakness he was displaying, and ashamed that he wasn’t by D’Artagnan’s side. He must get back to him before he woke, or he... No. He wouldn’t think about that.

It was a few minutes before he had the strength to stand, and even then he was shaky as he got to his feet. He approached the wall of the barn, leaning a hand against it and dipping his head to take a few deep breaths. The he stood, ready to step back inside and take his place by his Gascon’s side, but he froze when he heard a voice.

“Athos! Athos, come quickly!”

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, another cliff hanger too! Oops...
> 
> Please let me know if you like where this is going, or if you have anything you want me to incorporate. Open to suggestions!
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read this. I will update as soon as I can! :) x


	7. Chapter 7

Athos burst through the doors, noticing immediately the panicked look on his friends’ faces as they looked at him.

“Quickly,” said Aramis. “We need you.”

As soon as he spoke Athos realised that both of them were holding down D’Artagnan, who appeared to be jerking and thrashing beneath their hands. Athos ran over and threw himself to his knees beside them all.

“What’s happening? What do I do?” He looked at Porthos, who was holding the boy down by the shoulders, and Aramis who was practically sitting on his legs.

“He’s trying to fight off the shock; we need to hold him still in case he makes his injury worse. If he rips the stitches I’ll need to cauterise.” Aramis spoke calmly, trying to reassure himself as much as anyone else.

Immediately Athos knelt up and leant over D’Artagnan, trapping his arms at his sides, and using his own body to hold the other still, without putting too much weight on him. “Why is this happening?”

“I think he tried to wake up. It could just be the blood loss. It’s hard to tell, but he’s fighting something.”

Porthos spoke up. “How long will it last?”

“I don’t know.”

The three fell silent as they held onto their friend, all three faces full of worry and pity for the man in their hands. It felt to Athos as if they were there for hours, prayers running through his head as he begged for D’Artagnan’s life. In reality it wasn’t long before he felt the body beneath him slacken and the fight go out of him. Athos raised his head in panic, looking up at Porthos who looked terrified as he searched at D’Artagnan’s throat for a pulse. A grin crossed the big man’s face as he found it and Athos felt the tension being released from all three of them. He sat back up, releasing his hold.

“Now what?” Porthos asked.

Aramis had climbed off D’Artagnan’s legs and made his way to the side opposite Athos. He checked the wound and checked the pulse for himself, and smiled at the others. “He’s unconscious again. He will sleep for some hours I think.”

Porthos let out a relieved sigh, glancing quickly at Athos before he spoke. “Will he be ok?”

Aramis reached out and clasped his friend’s shoulder, giving him a genuine smile. “As long as there’s no infection, which there shouldn’t be, then I believe he will be.”

Porthos reached up, briefly covering the hand that rested on his shoulder, before looking once again at their leader. “Athos? You with us?” 

Athos hadn’t moved since sitting up. He knelt by D’Artagnan’s side, frozen in place with his head bent down to his chest. Aramis and Porthos shared a look, both in agreement about what they were about to do.

“Athos?” Porthos kept speaking quietly to him as they moved slowly round until Aramis was at his side and Porthos was kneeling directly behind him. “It’s alright Athos, it’s ok.” With the briefest of hesitations as he wondered whether this action was going to get him a punch in the face, Porthos slowly put his arms round Athos. When the man didn’t flinch he placed his hands gently on his torso, and wrapped him into a tight hug. “It’s alright.”

With sadness etched deeply into his face, Aramis reached forward and gently took hold of Athos’ hands. “Athos? It’s going to be fine, honestly. Are you with us?” A squeeze of his hands let Aramis know that he was heard and understood.

“I can’t, I can’t take much more of this.” Athos’ words were a pained whisper, laced with shame as he let his brothers see his weakness. The response was a tightening of Porthos’ arms, and Aramis’ arms joining in the embrace as he wrapped his arms around both of them.

“We’re here, alright?”

Athos couldn’t help but smile a little as he tried to nod but couldn’t move his head as he was so tightly wrapped up in the arms of his friends. “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

They stayed like that for several minutes, Aramis and Porthos waiting for a sign that Athos had relaxed. Athos let the comfort and love wash over him for a few minutes, before he reached up with his hands and patted Aramis on the back and one of Porthos’ strong arms. They said nothing as they released the embrace and moved away, standing up. Back to business.

“I’ll go and bring the horses over.” Porthos called over his shoulder as he headed for the doors.

“Check the cart for supplies would you?” Aramis called after him. Porthos nodded before heading outside. “I’m going to take care of our prisoner, then check the hayloft for sleep options.” Aramis also walked away, leaving Athos to sit back down by D’Artagnan’s unconscious form. He watched as Aramis checked the prisoner, who was thankfully still unconscious, smiling as Aramis grabbed the bastard by the feet and dragged him to a corner of the barn. The musketeer quickly located a length of rope and trussed the man up so tightly he’d be lucky if he could feel any of his limbs when he awoke. He was left facing the wall, unable to intrude on the privacy of the musketeers as they went about their business. Aramis sent a quick grin to Athos before climbing the ladder into the hayloft. His voice drifted back down. “Come and get me if you need to.”

Athos smiled and shook his head. Aramis’ subtle way of letting him know that he was going to stay up there and give him some time alone. He listened as Aramis moved around some hay above, making himself a bed for the night. Just as the noise stopped, Porthos came back through the doors carrying a bundle he had obviously gathered from the cart outside. With a grin he approached Athos.

“This should keep us going for the next few hours. Here.” He tossed some bread to Athos before dropping a couple of blankets on the floor next to him. “Aramis?”

“Hayloft.”

Porthos gave him a quick clap on the shoulder before he turned on his heel and headed straight for the ladders. Athos watched as the big musketeer moved out of sight. He looked at the bread in his hands, but put it aside for later. He couldn’t eat just now. Instead he took the blankets and covered D’Artagnan with the first one, trying to wrap him as carefully and snugly as possible. Then he lay down beside him, curling his body into him and pulled the other blanket over himself. He rested his chin on D’Artagnan’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him deeply, and buried his face in his hair. He moved the arm that he lay on so that he could find D’Artagnan’s hand under the blanket. His other arm wriggled its way under the blanket to lie protectively across his stomach. He pressed a kiss into his head before closing his eyes. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

“Aramis?” Porthos looked around the hay that scattered across the loft. He couldn’t see his friend, so he listened instead for the signs he was looking for.

A sniff.

Porthos walked steadily to the corner the sound came from, looking round the pile of hay that Aramis had hastily gathered to hide behind. The musketeer was lying on his back, one head pulling his hair back from his forehead, the other clenched at his side. Porthos sighed as he noticed the tears that filled his friend’s eyes and moved to sit quietly beside him. 

“You didn’t have to hide you know.”

“I don’t want Athos seeing me.”

“He won’t mind.”

“He’s got enough to worry about without me blubbering like a fool. He loves that boy.”

Porthos chuckled quietly and stretched out beside Aramis. “I know he does. He still wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve done this a hundred times Porthos, I should be able to handle it.” Aramis lifted the hand from his forehead and slapped it back down in frustration.

“And how many of those hundred times have involved one of us? We are aware that you do this when it’s important to you, you know.”

Aramis turned to look questioningly at Porthos. The big man shrugged.

“Did you think I didn’t notice it took you half an hour to wash your hands after you stitched up Athos when got shot the last time?” Porthos laughed as Aramis averted his eyes in embarrassment. “It’s not a weakness; you’re the strongest person I know, possibly with the exception of Athos. But it can’t be easy, being the one that has to fix us all the time.”  
“It’s never felt like this before.”

“What? D’Artagnan makes it worse?”

Aramis shook his head. “No, that’s the same. It’s just...Athos. I’ve never seen him look like that, have you?”

Porthos grew serious. “No, never. Not even at his worst.”

“How long do you think it’s been going on?”

“No idea.” Porthos shrugged. “I noticed the boy’s hero-worship straight away of course, but I didn’t notice when it was reciprocated.”

“Me neither. Do you think we should tell him we know?”

“I think he probably realises that we’ve guessed something. But it wouldn’t do much good for them to get too relaxed, what if someone else saw?”

“Love is never simple.” Aramis’ voice was sad.

“No, it isn’t.” Porthos slid a look over the Aramis. “Now, do you need a hug to feel better?”

Aramis laughed. “I’m fine thanks.”

Porthos just laughed back and reached over to pull his friend into his embrace. He wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Porthos, you’re roasting!”

“Shut up and just be grateful will you?” Porthos closed his eyes, ready to go to sleep with his friend securely in his arms.

Aramis spoke softly. “I am.” He closed his own eyes, determined to get some sleep. First he prayed that D’Artagnan would wake soon, and that Athos’ damaged heart would not be broken.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

Athos kept his eyes closed when he awoke a few hours later. He had fallen into a much deeper sleep than he intended, and he was reluctant to open his eyes and look at D’Artagnan. He lay for a few moments, before realising that the torso he was wrapped around was rising and falling evenly with steady breaths. A second after he registered this, causing a sharp intake in his own breath, he felt his hand being squeezed gently.

“Athos?”

He opened his eyes, his head still buried in D’Artagnan’s hair. He was still reluctant to move.

“Athos?”

This time he sat up, looking down to see D’Artagnan’s eyes wide open and looking at him, his mouth smiling slightly as he gazed up at him.

“Hi.” The short monosyllable was all Athos could manage as his throat closed up.

D’Artagnan smiled wider. “Hi.”

Athos held his gaze for a few moments, before he lay back down and buried himself as closely into D’Artagnan as he could, letting his emotions flow freely at last.

D’Artagnan tried to lift his free hand to touch Athos, but found that he couldn’t move it without searing pain shooting through him. Instead he squeezed the hand he held even tighter and whispered softly to the trembling man beside him. “It’s ok. I’m here, I’m fine. I’m alright Athos.”

He almost missed the words that were whispered against his neck as Athos finally controlled his breath.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to some action next chapter, and look - no cliffhanger!! ;-)
> 
> Thanks for reading, next chapter soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis and Porthos descended the ladder quietly after they awoke; smirking as they spotted the tangled bundle that was Athos and D’Artagnan near the far wall of the barn. A groan behind them reminded the two musketeers that they had work to do and they snapped out of their brief trance.

“I’ll go and check on our patient, if you want to deal with our guest?”

Porthos’ reply was a grin, before he went to the man firmly trussed up in the corner, still groaning in pain.

Aramis approached the other two, loathe to wake them, but needing to check his patient as soon as he could. He was relieved to find D’Artagnan breathing, and showing no sign of fever.

“Athos?” Aramis crouched by his friend, gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes immediately opened. “I need to check D’Artagnan’s wound, please.”

Athos tried to fight the blush that was trying to spread across his face at being found in such a...well, cuddly way. He nodded, extracted his arms from a sleeping D’Artagnan and stood. “I’ll go and see if there’s some water outside. We’ll need it for, uh, various things. I’ll get you some.”

Aramis laughed softly as Athos walked out of the barn, clearly flustered. He shook his head, then pulled the blanket from D’Artagnan, trying to move the padding from his wound without waking him. He jumped a little when a voice spoke.

“Morning Aramis.”

“D’Artagnan, you’re awake! Good, that will make this easier. How do you feel?” He began to gently inspect the wound, smiling at D’Artagnan as the boy’s eyes fluttered open.  
“Fine.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, ok. It hurts like hell, ok?” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes at Aramis, who simply raised his second eyebrow, clearly looking for more. “And if you must know, I’m rather tired. And a bit cold since you sent my human blanket away.” D’Artagnan looked squarely at Aramis, daring him to react, but the older men just kept calmly inspecting the wound that graced his shoulder.

“Good good. All is as it should be then. Hungry?” D’Artagnan nodded eagerly. The pain in his shoulder was immense, but he was absolutely starving. Aramis replaced the dressing and stood. “I’ll get you some breakfast. Ah ah!” He waggled his finger as D’Artagnan tried to sit up and groaned in pain. “You don’t move till I move you, got it?”

Reluctantly, he nodded in agreement. He hated being helpless. It was only a minute before Aramis returned, however, and helped him slowly to sit up against the wall of the barn, a musketeer cloak folded carefully behind his back to support him. He nodded in agreement when Aramis insisted he would be lain back down when he got sore, and took the bread he was offered and chewed eagerly. 

He nearly choked on it a few minutes later when Athos came into the barn, carrying two buckets of water, his hair soaked and plastered to his face, with rivulets running down his face and dripping down his neck into the loose shirt he wore.

“There’s a stream behind the barn.” Athos announced triumphantly, after he had glanced over to D’Artagnan and seen that all was well. “Perfect for bathing.”

“So we see.” Aramis’ reply was dry, but he looked over at D’Artagnan and smirked knowingly. Athos clearly had no idea what he was doing to him at that moment. “I’ll take some of that though.” He took one of the pails Athos was brandishing, after finding them God knows where, and moved back to D’Artagan. The Gascon didn’t even bother offering an argument when Aramis removed the dressings once more and began cleaning the wound gently.

“Gentlemen? It’s time to work out what to do with our friend here.” Porthos had untied the tight bindings that were causing their captive pain, and had fed and watered him before tying him once more to a post in the centre of the barn. Now the other three soldiers in the room turned to face him, glaring at him in a way that made the man’s bowels feel very loose all of a sudden.

Athos kept his distance, not trusting himself near the man, but watched in satisfaction as Porthos prowled around the man like a hunting cat, soon joined by Aramis when he finished with D’Artagnan. He let the two of them scare the life out of their prisoner for a few minutes, watching as any remaining colour drained from his face, before he spoke.

“Where were you going?” His voice was calm, but authoritative. There was no mistaking the power or the class in his voice. D’Artagnan in his position against the wall was behind him. The Gascon rolled his eyes. Between the voice and the new wet-look appearance the man was surely trying to kill him.

“Giverny.” The man spoke without hesitation, figuring out quite quickly that the best chance he had of staying alive was giving them every answer they asked for.

“To see whom?” 

“I, I don’t know.” He panicked as the two pacing around him stopped, at the same time as their leader stood. “Honestly, we never knew. We were just told what the job was.”

Porthos couldn’t help himself. He grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and pulled him to his feet, ignoring the groans that said moving was still not comfortable for the scumbag. “Told by who?”

“I never met him before, I swear. He just offered us money, lots of it, to find someone matching a particular description and take them to Giverny. I swear. We were at it for a week, all over Paris before we saw your friend there.” The man was shaking all over.

“Did you see the man who employed you?” Athos stalked towards him, his voice urgent. The man nodded desperately, and was dropped unceremoniously by Porthos.  
“If he’s shown himself then he’s getting desperate Athos.” Aramis spoke quietly, and the others nodded.

“You’re right. This client must be important.” Athos glanced over his shoulder at D’Artagnan, who looked back at him blankly. The pain was beginning to impress on him, but he wasn’t going to tell Aramis that, so he was happy to stay quiet and let them deal with it. He was enjoying watching Athos take charge anyway, if truth be told.

Porthos shrugged. “Then we need to get back to Paris today, and take this arsehole with us to find his boss.”

D’Artagnan shook himself out of his reverie and spoke quietly. “No.” The others turned to look at him. “We need to keep going.”

“You’ve been injured boy, nearly died. Don’t you think we’d best get you out of it and deal with this quickly?” Porthos threw up his hands in exasperation at the boy’s stubbornness.   
To everyone’s surprise it was Athos who spoke up in agreement with D’Artagnan. “No, he’s right.”

“Sorry Athos, do you have water in your ears from your morning bathe? He said he wants to keep going.” Aramis looked at Porthos, who just shrugged back.

“I know. It’s the only way. We need to get Marchal, and we need to get this client too. If we go back it could take days to find him. What’s to stop someone else being taken?”

“Someone we don’t know needs rescued.” D’Artagnan piped up.

“This way we can go to Giverny, get the client, and through him get Marchal. It’s our only option.”

Aramis and Porthos stared at Athos for a few moments, before mumbling their agreement.

“One small issue,” Athos turned his attention back to the prisoner who had remained slumped on the floor. “Does the client know when to expect you?”

“No. We didn’t have time to send word that we had him. We sent a note yesterday saying that we intended to take him last night, but we were going to send a message on ahead today, to say when we’d arrive.”

“Good. Then we will do that.” The man looked up at Athos, who now stood over him. “You are going to tell us where to send it, then we are going to go as you and your now deceased friends, and take D’Artagnan to his new owner. You are going to be taken to the nearest village and handed over to the authorities present. You will wait for us, chained up and thanking God every minute that we left you alive, and that I let you keep your limbs and your manhood intact, despite touching him. Understand?”

The man on the ground nodded miserably, riddled with fear.

“Porthos?”

“Right then.” Porthos grinned as he came back to the man and hauled him up by the collar. “Onto the cart with you.”

Aramis followed him as he made his way outside. “I’ll go with him Athos, once we send a message we’ll try and get some clothes. We can’t turn up like this if we’re going as those three, and some of their stuff seems to be suffering from the effects of extra holes and blood.”

“Um Athos?” D’Artagnan spoke up after they left. “Couldn’t you just wear your own clothes without the musketeer insignia?”

Athos turned to look at him and snorted. “Of course. I believe Aramis was trying to give us a moment alone.” D’Artagnan grinned back.

“In that case, could you come here please?”

Athos looked at him doubtfully.

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to try and coerce you into sleeping with me, I’m well aware that I’m not quite fit. I would like you to help me to my feet though.”

Athos walked over to him and took hold of him under his good arm. Gently he pulled him to his feet, pausing every time he grimaced or groaned. When he was standing D’Artagnan leaned himself into Athos, tucking his head into the other man’s chest and wrapping one arm around him, the other hanging fairly uselessly at his side.

“Aright?” Athos gently wrapped his two arms around him.

“Mm hmm. Nice.” D’Artagnan snuggled further into the embrace, grinning into Athos’ chest. It had been too long since they’d had a quiet moment like this.

“I’m sorry D’Artagnan. I should’ve been there.” Guilt dripped from Athos’ voice when he spoke a few minutes later.

D’Artagnan lifted his head and glared at him. “I’m not listening to that. It’s no one’s fault, it is what it is, and now we have a plan, ok?”

Athos nodded and rested his forehead against D’Artagnan’s; one his favourite ways to stand. “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. Don’t ever do that again, ever.” He whispered.

“I’ll do my best never to get shot again, I promise.” D’Artagnan chuckled, but stopped when Athos lifted his head and he saw the emotions shining in his eyes. “I promise.” He leaned forward again, kissing him softly. “I meant to tell you earlier. I love you too.”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

It was late in the afternoon before Aramis was satisfied that D’Artagnan was completely out of danger of infection and would let him make the journey. They had sent a message saying they would be there within the next two days, giving them time to travel fairly slowly, getting plenty of rest. They stabled their horses in the village they had left their prisoner in, deciding that keeping the cart would be the best idea. The time was spent laughing and joking, a symptom of their relief to be reunited safely. Aramis, as usual, took the brunt of the humour, but by the second day he had managed to turn it round to jokes at D’Artagnan and Athos’ expense.

The older man just smirked at Aramis, and Porthos, as they good naturedly ribbed them from their perch on the driver’s seat of the cart. D’Artagnan gave as good as he got, sitting between Athos’ legs in the back of the cart, snuggled against his chest. The young soldier was comfortable in his relationship and saw no reason to hide it from their friends. It seemed that Aramis and Porthos were not too bothered anyway.

By lunch time on the second day they were outside the town of Giverny.

“He said we were to go to the church on the main square, and a servant would take us to the client.” Porthos pulled the horse to a halt as he spoke.

“We’d better get into character then.” Aramis grinned and jumped down from beside Porthos, going round the back of the cart to climb in beside the other two. “We better tie you up D’Aartagnan. Would you prefer Athos did it?” 

D’Artagnan said nothing but rolled his eyes at Aramis’ waggling eyebrows. Sat up and leaned forward, bringing his hands round behind his back.

“Does it hurt?” Athos tied his hands with the rope Aramis handed to him.

“It’s fine. A lot better than it was. At least I can move it now.” It was more painful than he claimed, but it was necessary so there was no point in complaining. He knew Athos saw right through him anyway.

Athos climbed out from behind him and took his place on the other side of the cart, he and Aramis sitting side by side, pistols in their laps as they faced D’Artagnan. Guarding their prisoner.

“Ready? Let’s get this over and done with.” Porthos guided the horse through the town, heading for the large spire he could see in the centre. Arriving there, they spotted a little boy sitting miserably on the steps outside, obviously having been there all day.

“You waiting for a cart from Paris lad?” The boy nodded eagerly. “We need directions to your master. Up you come.” He patted the seat next to him and the boy scrambled up onto the bench. 

“What’s your master’s name boy?” Athos spoke from the back of the cart. The boy just shook his head and didn’t speak. In fact he didn’t speak for the whole journey to the large estate that he directed them too by pointing, a mile and a half outside the town. 

“Definitely a rich bastard then.” Aramis poke wryly to Athos as the house came into view. The mansion seemed to stretch on forever, a huge grand staircase leading up to the main house, which sat a good height above the extraordinary gardens that surrounded it. The boy pointed Porthos through an arch to the side of the steps, taking them into a vast courtyard in the centre of the building.

A man came out to meet them, going straight to the back of the cart, but soon stopped when faced with the swords of the two musketeers that sat there.

“We take him. We will need his confirmation so that we get paid.” There was no room for argument in Athos’ command.

The man nodded and beckoned them to bring D’Artagnan and follow them. 

Aramis whispered to Porthos as they led D’Artagnan between them, Athos ahead of them stalking behind the servant. “Do none of this man’s servants speak?”

“It’s creeping the hell out of me.” Porthos whispered back, shuddering.

They were led through the house, as grand inside as it was out, until eventually they arrived at a pair of ornately decorated doors. The servant opened them and stood aside, not entering the room. Athos glanced behind him at the others, silently asking if they were ready. Two nods were his answer.

With confidence, Athos swept into the room, approaching the desk at the far end where a man stood with his back to them, gazing out of the window.

“We have your order here sir. Now if you’ll give us your seal as proof we will be on our way collect our payment.”

The man didn’t move for several seconds, before turning very slowly on the spot, eventually facing Athos and the others with a much calmer expression that he should have.

The three musketeers’ mouths all dropped open at the same moment. In the silence D’Artagnan dared to lift his head from where it had been drooped between Aramis and Porthos. He immediately spluttered in shock.

“Oh my God, it’s you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of got away from me a little! I wanted to get back on the road, but there was other stuff that needed done first. 
> 
> Thanks for staying with me, and for those of you who take the time to review it is much appreciated! ;)
> 
> Just two or three more chapters I think.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I decided to be nice and get the cliffhanger over quickly! Answers ahead.
> 
> Please excuse any historical inaccuracies, French inaccuracies and made up details, it's all in the name of fiction!
> 
> Let me know what you think, did you guess??? ;)

D’Artagnan shook off Aramis and Porthos’ hands easily and stood forward. Everyone was in silence for several moments as the four musketeers stared at the man before them, and he stared back. Athos was the closest to him and could see a hint of fear starting to appear in his eyes. Good.

“I really don’t understand what the hell is going on here.” Porthos voiced the confusion of all four of them.

When no one else spoke, the man in front of them sighed, placing his hands on the back of the elegant chair that sat behind his very expensive desk. “Well obviously things have not gone as I planned.” His voice was smooth and confident, still hiding the fear he must feel at the appearance of musketeers in his home.

Aramis snorted. “No shit.”

“Who are you?” Athos voice hid nothing, he was seething with rage. D’Artagnan glanced at him and could see the clenched fists at his sides, the tension that gripped every muscle in his back. 

The man sighed again. “I am the Comte de la Amiens.”

“Again, I’m really not getting this.”

The Comte raised an eyebrow at Pothos as he spoke, but before he could reply Athos spoke again.

“The Comte de la Amiens is regularly at the court of the King. He is not you.”

“Ah, well yes. There is a man who goes to court as the Comte de la Amiens, but I could hardly go myself now could I? I have another life to upkeep. No, no. I pay him well.” He shrugged carelessly.

“You appear very rich for a man of your position.” Aramis gestured to the surroundings.

“Perhaps. Yes.”

“And perhaps you were not always a man of this position?” Athos had noted how the man’s eyes looked down at Aramis’ comment. He was beginning to get a picture of something that answered several questions. “I believe you used to be a man of a much greater position, perhaps even with some very regal family connections.” Athos began to enjoy himself a little as he watched the man squirm slightly. “You have been hidden here because of your, indiscretions, haven’t you?”

The man said nothing, but Athos could see it took great effort. D’Artagnan stepped forward to stand next to Athos, glaring at the man but saying nothing.

“The King’s famous disgraced cousin.” Athos smirked in satisfaction as he watched the ‘Comte’ finally lose his cool.

“I am not disgraced! I am not hidden!” His face turned scarlet as he began shouting.

“Then how do you explain your loss of royal connections? Your banishment from court?” Aramis spoke as he and Porthos stepped forward, flanking Athos and D’Artagnan and forming a line with their comrades.

“I am not banished! The King would never banish me! I choose not to go, you know I have another life to uphold.” His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the chair.

“I knew I never liked you.” D’Artagnan spoke for the first time, his disgust clear. Instantly the man’s face turned ashen.

“No, D’Artagnan, no, you don’t mean that.” He reached his hands out imploringly as the young soldier’s mouth fell open in shock. “It was all pretence, all part of my Paris act, but you must have known I didn’t dislike you as I acted.”

Athos felt Aramis’ hand grip his arm firmly, stopping him from any rash movements as they all realised what was happening.

“It was me? It was me you wanted, from the beginning.” D’Artagnan felt sick. Porthos placed a hand on his back, keeping him upright.

“But I never thought they would bring you. I was haunted by you, I needed to have you, or be able to pretend I did, I-” 

“Enough!” The force of Athos’ voice when he shouted made him silent at once. “You will say nothing else. Nothing to D’Artagnan at all, do you understand me? You will now be taken under guard back to Paris, where you will be questioned until we have the full details of all of your crimes, any other purchases you have made. The King will be informed of your activities, and after you have assisted us in bringing in Marchal, he will decide your punishment. Do you understand?”

Their new prisoner eyed Athos warily before he sat slowly at his desk. “You are very protective of your men sir. I apologise.” His voice was calm again.

Porthos rolled his eyes at him. “Is he giving anyone else the creeps here?” He shuddered.

“Right there with you Porthos.” Aramis replied.

The source of the creepiness ignored them, still eyeing Athos.

“I am the King’s cousin, you cannot make me go anywhere.”

“You are no longer recognised as the King’s cousin, and I can make you go anywhere I like.” Athos’ kept his voice calm to match the tone that was levelled at him, but he was glad of Aramis’ strong grip on his arm to remind him to stay in control, rather than throwing himself and his sword at this bastard and cutting every piece off him that he could reach. “I will start by dragging you from that chair if you do not move out from behind the desk.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. You cannot make me go anywhere.” Quickly, he reached into a low drawer that the musketeers had not seen and must have been open, pulling out a pistol and pointing it at D’Artagnan.

It did not have the effect he was looking for, as the two musketeers on either end of the human barrier chuckled and Athos took a step forward threateningly. “Lower your weapon right now, or I will kill you. Slowly.”

Porthos and Aramis were suddenly both holding their own pistols, pointed at the prisoner.

“Ah. Well I see we are at an impasse gentlemen.”

With one last longing look at D’Artagnan, he raised the pistol to his head and fired.

All three musketeers leapt forward at once, but the man was dead in his chair before they had moved an inch.

“Dammit!” Athos punched the desk in frustration as Aramis pointlessly checked for a pulse.

“Woah there, boy.” Porthos moved back to D’Artagnan as he took a step forward and slumped against the desk, catching himself with his good hand. “Hold up.” Porthos wrapped an arm around his waist as Athos and Aramis looked up in concern.

“Is anyone out there?” Athos shouted out and the man who had shown them in appeared through the doors looking terrified. “Your master is dead, he has committed suicide after we placed him under arrest. We are the King’s musketeers, do you understand?” A nod. “Good, now some wine for my friend please.”

D’Artagnan was a little out of focus as he felt himself being escorted across the room to a chair. His head was swirling in confusion and emotion. He still felt sick from realising that he had been the fantasy that had set this whole thing in motion. The thought that some poor boy could’ve been kidnapped and used because of him set his teeth on edge. Not to mention his shoulder was killing him.

Aramis followed as Porthos half-carried D’Artagnan across the room. As he began to check the wound the man returned, a jug of wine and four cups on a tray. He placed them on a table next to D’Artagnan’s chair and bowed before turning to leave the room.

“Wait!” Athos approached the man and addressed him quietly. “Thank you for the wine. We may need your help. Will you assist us?”

The servant nodded, not looking Athos in the eye.

“Look at me please.” He spoke softly, and two scared brown eyes met his. “What is your name?”

To his surprise the man did not answer, just shook his head sadly.

“Will you not speak to me? We mean you no harm.”

The man shook his head again, gesturing to his mouth. Athos’ heart plummeted as he came to a hideous realisation.

“Is everyone like you, friend?”

Another nod. Athos clasped him gently on the shoulder. “Could you bring us some food please? And then gather all the servants in the courtyard, everyone please.”

Athos followed the man to the door as he left again, closing it quietly and resting his head against it. He spoke quietly.

Aramis looked up, finished with D’Artagnan’s dressing. “Athos? Did you say something?” The other two also looked at him.

Through gritted teeth, in a voice full of pain and vitriolic anger, he repeated his words. “The sick bastard cut out their tongues!” He punched the door with his fist before turning to face his friends, all three of them wearing facial expressions that shared the same feelings he was experiencing. “He needed to keep his secret so badly that he silenced every single one of them. Bought and paid for, all of them.”

It took every bit of strength in him not to go to the body at the desk and start mutilating his anger into it. By the looks on the others’ faces, and the curses that met his speech, everyone was having the same dilemma. Instead he focused on the needs at hand.

“D’Artagnan, are you alright?” Athos approached, grateful for the wine Aramis handed to him as he got there, and crouched on the floor in front of the chair. 

“I’m fine.” D’Artagnan smiled ruefully, but was met with a raised eyebrow that told him he was not believed. Athos reached a hand up to cup his face, stroking his cheek gently with one thumb. He drank half his wine in one gulp, and passed the rest to D’Artagnan, who swallowed the rest quickly. Athos smiled sadly at him and stood.

“Now what?” Aramis asked the obvious question.

“We need to make some decisions. We need to do something for these poor people, we need to get back to Paris and speak to both Treville and the King, and we need to find Marchal.”

“How the hell are we going to do that, now the bastard de la Amiens is dead?” Porthos asked.

D’Artagnan stood and sighed. “That’s not the only difficulty that’s going to meet us in Paris.”

The four of them looked at each other and shared a grimace. How the hell were they going to explain to Constance who and what her husband had really been?


	10. Chapter 10

They left the poisonous house at Giverny as quickly as they could, but there were important things they needed to find, not least some proof as to what the King’s cousin had truly been, as it may be difficult to explain his death on their return to the city without it. It also needed to be confirmed where his servants had come from, and what could be done with them. 

Porthos took charge of their situation quickly, and with help from Aramis established that they were all fairly well, if a little undernourished and, of course, missing their tongues. There were eighteen of them in total, a pitiful number to run a property of this size, but Porthos was hugely relieved that more poor souls had not been put through the torture, and left as scared and traumatised as the group they had in their charge. There were five children among the eighteen, and it took two days for the musketeers to establish where they had come from and make sure they were all on their way to the homes they had been taken from. All except one, who appeared more frightened of going home than of staying put. 

Of the thirteen left, nine were grateful to be set free, accompanying the children home with letters from Athos, explaining what had happened, before making their way to their own families to pick up what pieces of their lives they could. Those that were left would stay to keep the house, until the King decided who should live there.

Aramis and Porthos stood at the gate and watched as the last of them left, a horse and cart from the stables gifted to the man driving, who had a long way to go to reach his home in the southern countryside. Porthos’ eyes filled with tears as he watched him leave, still unable to comprehend the horrors of the situation.

“How could he do all of that?”

Aramis turned to Porthos, wrapping his hand around the bigger man’s arm in a gesture of comfort, and sighed. “I cannot say my friend, but I fear that we have seen true evil at work here.” 

The two watched in silence as the cart disappeared out of sight, then hastily wiped their eyes dry before setting off back up the long drive to the house. They had brought no horses with them, knowing that they would need the walk to reflect and gather themselves. Both of them were praying that Athos or D’Artagnan had found what they needed to let them leave.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

Athos and D’Artagnan eventually found the paperwork they had been looking for; correspondence between Bonacieux, as they still thought of him, and Marchal. The letters were secured together by a purple ribbon, hidden in a locked drawer in a desk in a small guest room. They had been searching the house systematically for two days, and had finally made their way to the third floor. D’Artagnan was still tiring quickly, but he refused to let Athos see that he was having any difficulty. They needed to get out of here as quickly as possible, and he would not be the one holding them back.

As they entered the guest room, they saw that it was empty, other than a bed and the desk and chair under the window. It was stark and cold, like the rest of the house beyond the main rooms. D’Artagnan headed straight for the bed, lifting the bedding and crouching on the floor to look underneath, while Athos took the large ring of keys they had still not found keyholes for and headed to the desk to go through it. 

“Anything?” D’Artagnan stood up and turned round, flopping himself back onto the bed dramatically. Athos looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

“Not yet, this side of the desk is empty. But the other two are locked.”

D’Artagnan snorted doubtfully and threw his hand over his eyes, making it rather obvious to Athos that he expected these locked drawers to provide the same as all the others they had opened, hundreds of times across the house. Nothing. He closed his eyes and listened as Athos opened one drawer, then the other.

“D’Artagnan?”

He removed the arm from across his face, opening his eyes and turning to look over at Athos, who was holding a bundle of paper.

“I think we should look at these.” Athos stood up from behind the desk and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside D’Artagnan, who had struggled into a seated position as he approached. Athos untied the ribbon and handed over half the pack. They began to read in silence.

“This is it Athos! This is a note from Marchal telling him they’ve got what he asked for and reminding him of the price.” D’Artagnan almost bounced on the bed in excitement as he read, finally they could leave this awful place. He turned to Athos, expecting his handsome face to hold a matching grin, but instead he found Athos reading with a worryingly pale face, and shaking hands. “Athos? What is it?”

The reply was quiet, and shaken. “It’s a draft of a letter to Marchal, describing his wishes. It’s you D’Artagnan, it’s a letter describing you, down to every last detail.”

“Let me see it.” He held out his hand, but Athos shook his head and dropped it onto the floor before wrapping his arms tightly around the man at his side.

“No. You don’t need to read it, just trust me.” Athos felt D’Artagnan nod against him and sighed with relief. The extent of Bonacieux’s obsession practically dripped from the page. It had sickened him as he had realised how long and how closely he had been watching the boy, and terrified him as to what could have happened while D’Artagnan lived under his roof if the bastard had not found Marchal. He tightened his hold.

“Are you alright?” D’Artagnan asked the question quietly, one hand moved to wind itself into Athos’ hair, running his fingers soothingly up and down his neck.

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” D’Artagnan suddenly tightened his hold on Athos, pulling both of them to the side until they were lying side by side in their embrace, legs dangling off the side of the bed. With a grin D’Artagnan detangled himself, moving quickly so that he was lying on top of the older man, their lips pressed together. He smiled into the kiss when he felt Athos’ hands move up his back, one moving up to grip his hair tightly and the other splayed at the bottom of his spine, pressing their bodies tightly together. They were both panting as they pulled apart. 

“We need to get back to Paris. Right now.” Athos practically growled at him. D’Artagnan nodded in agreement and reluctantly stood. Now was not the time. He held out a hand and pulled Athos to his feet. They gathered the letters and tied them back together. As they made to leave the room, D’Artagnan paused, his hand on the door handle he had yet to turn. He spoke to Athos behind him.

“How long?”

“If we leave shortly we could be in Paris in two days.” Athos knew exactly what he was asking.

“Thank god.” D’Artagnan felt a blush creeping up his neck as he spoke without thinking, but he heard Athos chuckle behind him and a kiss was pressed into his neck.  
“I can’t wait either.” Athos whispered. D’Artagnan grinned to himself and opened the door, practically bounding down the hall as he called for Porthos and Aramis.

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

“I’m sorry, but you’re actually telling me that the idiot Bonacieux was the one who bought D’Artagnan? That he was actually the King’s disgraced cousin, and some sort of evil pervert?” Treville paced behind his desk, his four greatest assets in front of him, and tried to digest the information he had just received. “This is rather unbelievable.”

“We would not have believed it ourselves, if we had not seen him in his home, and heard the truth from his own lips.” Aramis fought the urge to roll his eyes. The captain had every right to have difficulty believing the preposterous story.

“And his wife?”

“He had a secret life here, as Bonacieux, which we assume even the King did not know about. Taking a wife would make it easier to keep a home here, as well as anything else.” Athos explained.

“She knows nothing about this?”

“No.” D’Artagnan’s reply was fierce. He would have no suggestion that the woman knew anything of what her husband was. The captain nodded. 

“We will tell her tomorrow.” Aramis pre-empted Treville’s next question.

“Fine. Now, Marchal?”

“We think it best we take him first sir, before we explain things to the king.”

“You have a way of doing this?”

“Yes. We have one of his ‘delivery men’ in our care. He knows where to meet Marchal to get his payment. He did not take much persuasion to spill what he knows sir, and two of us will go with him to collect it.” Porthos grinned.

“The rest of the regiment will be in position to take him and his men down, once we have confirmed his presence.” Athos confirmed.

Two days on the road had given them time to plan Marchal’s capture carefully. Nothing was going to go wrong this time. The whole regiment would be there to help, and the scum would be taken alive.

“Fine, when do we do this?” The captain was more than happy to leave the resolution of this to the men who had been most affected by it.

“We will address the men in the morning sir, if you will gather every man you can.”

“Consider it done. Now go and rest, all of you.” The captain dismissed them with a wave of his hand, his face still showing his shock and confusion. He watched as the four of them left, before reaching for the bottle of brandy he kept in his desk, pouring himself a large drink. He looked at the bundle of letters Athos had left on the desk, and with a shudder began to read.

Outside the four stood in darkening courtyard in silence. A mixture of emotions ran through them all, but with one overriding thought. By the end of tomorrow, this would all be over.

“I’m going for a drink. Anyone else?” Aramis broke the silence, and Porthos grunted his acceptance of the proposal.

“Um, no, not tonight. I think I’ll just...um...” D’Artagnan felt himself blushing again as he struggled to just tell them he did not want a drink.

“Oh? Where are you going then? Surely not to the Bonacieux house? Can’t risk Constance being back from wherever her husband sent her, can we?” Aramis was all wide-eyed innocence as he watched the boy squirm in front of him.

Porthos shook his head. “Leave the boy alone Aramis.” He rolled his eyes as the innocent face was turned towards him.

Athos finally decided to step in, after a moment or two of enjoying the blush that covered D’Artagnan’s skin. He moved beside Aramis and gave him a sharp slap on the back of the head.

“Hey!”

“Listen to Porthos, there’s a good boy.” Athos’ voice was dry and amused. He looked over at D’Artagnan and nodded his head towards the gate. “Come on.”

Porthos and Aramis stood and watched as Athos left, D’Artagnan moving quickly to catch up with him. They heard the boy muttering a complaint to Athos about being left to the mercy of Aramis’ sense of humour, and watched as Athos laughed and flung an arm around his shoulders, briefly squeezing him into his embrace before loosening his hold, but leaving his arm in place.

“You deserved that.” Porthos glanced at Aramis from the corner of his eye, a grin across his face as he watched his two friends leave.

“Perhaps.” Aramis shrugged, also smiling at the happiness he was witnessing ahead of him.

Porthos sighed. “Come on then, a drink.” He started walking out the gate, Aramis falling into step beside him.

“Yes, a drink. Then perhaps a willing wench or two.” Aramis quickened his pace.

“Really? Tonight?”

Aramis shrugged. “Well, if they’re getting a full celebration tonight, why shouldn’t I?”

Porthos sighed and followed his friend. This could be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go!
> 
> Thanks for your support, and for reading. I'm glad the twist was unexpected, to at least some of you. Got to keep you on your toes!
> 
> Next chapter - Marchal at last!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end!! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geezo, it's long! Please enjoy!

By the time the sun was settling into the sky the next morning, more than half the garrison were already in place in their designated areas, waiting for their signal. Several others were waiting to accompany Porthos and Aramis into their place as the first wave of attack once Marchal had been identified. There was an air of anticipation amongst all the musketeers, as there was every time they had a mission that they could be certain would end in some sort of confrontation. It was part of the reason they had signed up, after all.  
Porthos and Aramis were with Athos and D’Artagnan, going over the final details one last time at their usual breakfast table in the yard, and Porthos was having a final go at persuading them to let him and Aramis go in their place.

“You know I’m talking sense, you’ve both been injured recently.” With both hands on the table, he leaned across, imploringly.

“We’re both fine Porthos.” Athos’ arms were folded. He was not budging.

“Aramis, help me here.”

Aramis shrugged. “If they’re fit for duty they’re fit for duty.”

Porthos growled at him.

“Besides, you like the bit when you get to charge in, yelling yourself hoarse, pistols waving.” Aramis met Athos’ eyes, who grinned back.

“Well don’t blame me if one of you gets hurt...”

D’Artagnan felt Athos tense up instantly at his side. Thanks for that Porthos, he thought. “We won’t. You’ll be there to protect us. Now go, I don’t think your group can handle the wait much longer.” D’Artagnan nodded towards the gate, where the men who were waiting for them were starting to scuffle a bit, with more than a few of them being held in tight headlocks.

With a sigh of defeat Porthos moved away from the table. “Fine. We’ll see you on the other side then?” He looked at Athos and D’Artagnan, who both nodded back confidently, then glared at Aramis before gesturing sharply with his head that he should follow. Athos and D’Artagnan watched as Aramis caught up with the big musketeer, slinging an arm round him briefly and saying something that made him laugh, before they caught up with their men and headed out.

“Go on then.”

Athos turned his head to look quizzically at D’Artagnan.

“Tell me it’s not too late, that I could catch up with them and send one of them back to go instead of me. You know you want to.”

Athos just lifted one eyebrow and shook his head, before turning his head back towards the gate and muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” D’Artagnan grinned at him, knowing perfectly well what he had said.

“I said I promised, didn’t I!” Athos spoke through gritted teeth, but D’Artagnan just laughed beside him.

“That’s right, you did. I told you, if you’re going, I’m going.”

“There’s no way I am not going to be there to teach that son of a bitch as lesson, so I guess you better come with me then. One sign of that sore shoulder though and I’ll have someone pull you out, understand?” Athos stood and looked down at him.

“Absolutely. I promised too, didn’t I?” D’Artagnan smiled up at him, pleased to get a smile in return, before reaching for the breakfast he had yet to finish. Athos walked away and headed up to Treville’s office to give him the final details of the situation, shaking his head as he went.

Life with that boy was going to be difficult, but it was going to be damned interesting.

Half an hour later, with their prisoner in tow, Athos and D’Artgnan approached the meeting point; a large building in a very salubrious part of the city.

“You’re sure this is exactly where you were to go?” Athos stopped the man and grabbed him tightly by the collar.

“Yes.” The man was not entirely convinced that helping them bring in Marchal was going to earn him his freedom, or his life, but he was willing to try.

“And he doesn’t know you?”

The man shook his head. “He doesn’t meet his employees until they become regulars. A successful job is required first.”

“Good, then you can wait here for us.” Athos roughly shoved the man down a narrow alley, gagged him quickly and tied him up tightly, leaving him at the far end, where the sunlight wouldn’t touch him and tell anyone he was there. “Much safer than trying to keep you out of the way of everyone’s swords, don’t you think? Now, we better keep you quiet too.” And with a punch that would have felled Porthos, he knocked the man out cold.

D’Artagnan was lounging against the wall when he exited the alley, grinning to himself. “Feel better?”

“Much. Now just one last thing.” Athos grabbed hold of D’Artagnan’s collar and hauled him back into the alley, pulling him far enough to be in the darkness before pressing the younger man against the wall, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

D’Artagnan instantly threaded a hand into Athos’ hair, pulling their faces tighter together, and one behind his back as he tried to pull their bodies even closer. They stayed like this for several moments, in a heated kiss that drew memories of the night before, and promised of the many nights to come. Eventually, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, Athos released him and stepped back, panting. With his hands falling onto his knees to steady himself, D’Artagnan tried to desperately to get his breath back, before looking up at Athos.

“What was that for?”

Athos grinned as he looked down at him, pleased at the state he had left him in. “Just reminding you why you need to make it home tonight.” His words were teasing, but D’Artagnan could detect the serious tone behind them. He stood upright, stepped in towards Athos and took his face in his hands, leaning their foreheads together to calm Athos down.

“I will always make it home to you Athos, always.” He watched Athos close his eyes before nodding. “I love you.”

Athos opened his eyes and grinned. “Let’s go and get this done then shall we? I have a strange need to get you home as soon as possible.”

D’Artagnan followed with a grin as Athos practically leapt out of the alley, heading up the street to the doors of the house they were expected at. He reached his side.  
“Ready?” Athos smiled softly at him as he raised a hand to the ornate door knocker.

D’Artagnan straightened the hat he was wearing, a small effort to hide how well he fit the description Marchal had been searching for. “Always.”

The noise echoed down the street as the heavy metal banged off the wood of the door. It was not long before footsteps made their way to the door and it was pulled open. A servant stood, looking at them expectantly.

“We’re here for our payment.” Athos instantly fell into character, adopting a rougher voice and less genteel accent. D’Artagnan managed to stop himself from gaping at Athos in amazement, but he did feel his knees wobble slightly as he heard it. Wow. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming desire to get Athos on his own.

“You have the paperwork?” The servant at the door was eyeing them cautiously. D’Artagnan realised he was being appraised and settled his face into an expression he thought befitting of his new status as a kidnapper.

Athos nodded and handed over the letter Aramis had forged while they were still in Giverny, being their master of fakery, and waxed shut with the official seal used by ‘Bonacieux’ when he was being his true self. The servant looked carefully at the seal, glancing up at the two men in front of him once more before handing it back and nodding them inside.   
Stepping across the threshold, Athos looked around him carefully as he followed the servant through an entrance hall and up the stairs. Three doors off the hall, not including the door they had entered by. All closed. Four doors at the on the first floor. 

D’Artagnan trailed behind him, making his own observations. No other servants to be seen, and no one left behind to guard the front door, which had been carefully locked by the one who let them in. Marchal was obviously very confident that he was secure here. D’Artagnan smirked in satisfaction, the idiot wasn’t going to know what hit him.   
They were shown into the furthest room on the first floor, entering through a simple looking single door into what appeared to be a large office. Two men stood in front of the windows facing the door, arms folded and looking unmistakably like they were there as the ‘muscle’. Neither of these men were Marchal. 

As the door closed behind them Athos turned to see that the servant had stayed in the room. So they were to be outnumbered. Marvellous.

Another door was on the wall to the left of them and after a few moments of silence it opened abruptly, a man entering and moving to sit at the desk in the room, in front of his bodyguards. He didn’t even glance at the two men who were there to see him, but sat at his desk and began sorting through some papers that sat on it. 

D’Artagnan turned to Athos and raised an eyebrow. Athos shrugged back and stepped forward, clearing his throat. He supposed he should address the man as sir, but he couldn’t bring himself to, so he stood and waited in the silence, his anger growing as the silence stretched further.

Since he had entered the room, D’Artagnan had been eyeing up the man who was behind his ordeal, and everything that had happened after. He didn’t look particularly threatening; he was fairly small and not very strong looking, he didn’t carry himself with an air of menace. Just this maddening sense of his own importance, that D’Artagnan could see was causing Athos to bristle into a state of complete tension. He decided to play the role of the stupid sidekick and stepped forward also.

“We’re here for our payment.” He let his voice sound bored, and annoyed, making it clear he had no idea this man was as dangerous as he was.

Finally, Marchal looked up, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. He held out a hand, beckoning with his fingers for the rolled parchment Athos till held. The musketeer stepped forward and handed it over without a word. Marchal ripped open the seal, looking over the contents and threw it onto the desk.

D’Artagnan held his breath as he read it. Aramis was a seasoned forger, but they needed this to pass muster or they’d be dead in a second. He heard Athos take a sharp intake of breath beside him that matched his own when the letter was discarded. Marchal eyed them for a few moments, before he finally spoke.

“He seems pleased with his purchase. Any trouble?” 

D’Artagnan couldn’t help the smile that took over his face, fighting it back an instant later. That was his voice?! That high-pitched squeaky voice belonged to the man who was one of the greatest criminal minds they had come against. Oh, this was fantastic. Porthos and Aramis were going to love this.

Athos, however, did a better job of not reacting. “None. Our money?”

“You shall have it, don’t worry.” Marchal stood from behind his desk and walked slowly round to stand in front of them. He looked D’Artagnan up and down for a second, but dismissed him quickly. When his eyes reached Athos he stood for longer, letting his eyes roam up and down the man in front of him in obvious appreciation for long to make D’Artagnan clench his fists at his side. He really, really wanted to punch the smug bastard. “I think I’m going to enjoy having you work for me.” The man practically purred as he spoke.

Athos shuddered a little inside, but held himself in check. When Marchal got no reaction from him he sighed and moved back to his desk, opening a drawer and removing a bag of coins. He headed back round the table and handed it to Athos. “Report back in two days and I’ll have another job for you, ok?” 

‘Did he just wink at me?’ Athos thought. He managed not to snort in the man’s face, but this time he smirked a little before nodding and turning back towards the door, D’Artagnan following. The servant pulled the door open and they were just about to step through it when the squeaky voice called them back.

“Wait.” They stopped, breath held. “I thought I was told there was three of you?”

Athos turned slowly, and shrugged at Marchal. “He got in the way.”

Marchal just grinned back, and dismissed them with a hand.

Back in the hall Athos and D’Artagnan headed quickly towards the stairs. It took Athos only a few second to realise that his companion was shaking with laughter. He allowed himself a quiet chuckle, but shook it off as they reached the door into the street. He turned quickly to D’Artagnan, who quickly shook off his laughter.

“Ready?” 

D’Artagnan nodded, giving Athos a wink, that he was actually glad to receive. Athos smiled then turned to the servant who had followed them back to the door. They stepped aside, letting the man approach the door. He pulled the key from his pocket, inserting it into the door and unlocking it. D’Artagnan put his hand on the servant’s, pausing him as he moved to pull the door open.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll do that.”

The ma barely had time to look at him in confusion before Athos wrenched open the door, grabbing the man by the neck and throwing him into the street. D’Artagnan looked out from behind Athos to where the man lay sprawled in the street in confusion.

“As good a signal as any.”

“Indeed.” Athos turned back into the house, letting his noble voice carry through the whole building at once. “King’s Musketeers! Come quietly.” At D’Artagnan’s raised eyebrows he shrugged. “What? I want to take the bastard fighting!” With a grin he ran back towards the stairs, just as the three doors on the ground floor burst open, and dozens of Marchal’s men ran to attack. That explains the man’s feeling of security in this building. But they were ready.

At the same time, the doors upstairs opened and feet thundered towards the stairs, but men piled in through the open door behind them, and glass could be heard breaking all around as the musketeers arrived, and took the quickest route into the building.

Yells were heard from upstairs, causing some of the men running towards the stairs to turn back, leaving only a handful for Athos and D’Artagnan to get through to make their way towards their target.

On cue, they heard Porthos’ roar of battle, pistols began firing as Marchal’s operation began falling down. Quickly, Athos dispatched three men with his sword, another falling down the stairs towards him as he was shot by a musketeer on the ground floor below them. D’Artagnan had his back to Athos, keeping at bay those that tried to come up the stairs towards them, while Athos took care of those coming down. It wasn’t long before they had reached the top of the stairs. The hallway at the top of stairs was full of musketeers scuffling with various members of Marchal’s extensive entourage. Athos could see that the door at the end was still unopened. Not a good sign, if any musketeers had come in through the windows in his office.

An ugly giant with two swords broke through the melee and lurched towards D’Artagnan. The Gascon spun out of the way with ease, slipping behind the man and knocking one of his swords away. Athos quickly took care of the other, then stooped in front of him on D’Artagnan’s nod, then waited for D’Artagnan to push, sending their assailant rolling down the stairs and taking several other idiots out on the way down.

Athos grinned as he stood. He loved watching D’Artagnan use the manoeuvres they had taught him.

“Athos, look!” D’Artagnan was pointing down the hallway, through the groups of scuffling men. Athos instantly saw what he was pointing at – the bodyguards from Marchal’s office were in the hallway, fighting with two musketeers.

Athos breathed a sigh of relief. “If the door’s shut he’s still in there.”

“Avoiding the fight? A coward as we expected then.”

“They always are. Let’s go.” Swords out, the two of them made their way along the corridor, offering help to any outnumbered musketeers, but quickly realising that they were definitely on the winning side. Several of Marchal’s men were dead, and several more unconscious or restrained and guarded over by grinning musketeers. By the time they reached the end of the corridor only one of the bodyguards were left standing, and the other was about to be beaten. They sidestepped the fight and threw open Marchal’s door.  
He wasn’t sitting at his desk, and a quick glance to the left showed them that the other door in the room was closed. The office was empty. Silently, Athos pointed to the door, D’Artagnan nodded quickly and they crept into the room, D’Artagnan staying on guard at the door while Athos headed towards the door.

“I’m so disappointed. I was going to have fun with you.” The high voice came eerily through the door as Athos reached it. “I should’ve known.”

D’Artagnan moved further into the room, as Athos reached for the door. He pulled it open, sword held aloft, and took a step back.

“Come out Marchal, it’s over.”

Marchal stepped quietly into the room, sword drawn. “Musketeers you say? Well at least I shall be going out in style.” 

“D’Artagnan? Don’t move.” With that instruction Athos lunged at Marchal, using all of the anger he had been bottling up against this man, since Jacqueline, through D’Artagnan’s kidnapping.

D’Artagnan stood and watched the fight in wonder. He had never seen Athos like this before. He loved to watch him engaged in a sword fight, but this was something else. It was brutal, and forceful, but quite beautiful at the same time. He had no desire to step in, this was Athos’ fight, and he wasn’t sure he could match Marchal’s obvious skill with his shoulder.

He just hoped he got to punch the bastard before he died.

He spun round as footsteps arrived at the door, but was relieved to see Porthos and Aramis arriving, swords and pistols drawn.

“All done?” His voice was casual, as if there wasn’t a fight to the death going on behind him.

His friends glanced at the clashing swords and moved just as casually into the room, stopping to stand comfortably and watch. 

“All done. “ Porthos confirmed. “So this is Marchal? Hmm. Not quite what I pictured.”

“He’s pretty good with that sword though,” Aramis pointed out.

D’Artagnan snorted. “He’d need to be. Wait till you hear him.”

Athos was vaguely aware of the others standing watching, but he didn’t let his concentration waver for a second. Marchal was good, but he was much, much better, and he was done playing with him. With what seemed to the audience to be a simple flick of his sword, he sliced into Marchal’s hand, disarming him, and quickly had his sword pressed against the man’s throat.

“Please don’t kill me!” he squeaked.

“Blimey, he sounds like he’s about to shit himself!”

“You’d think so wouldn’t you?” D’Artagnan grinned at Porthos.

“You mean that’s just his voice? He sounds like a two-year-old girl!” Porthos’ body shook with mirth.

Marchal’s face was growing read with anger as he glared at them around Athos’ unmoving body. This was obviously a bone of contention with him. 

“You will die anyway, by my hand or by execution.” 

Marchal looked back at Athos, fear spoiling his attempt to glare as he realised he was truly facing his death.

“Aramis? His sword please.” The musketeer in question stepped forward and picked up the fallen weapon, smirking at the criminal before stepping back.

Athos slowly lowered his sword, stepping in to take hold of Marchal by the throat. “I would absolutely love to kill you right now, but I won’t. I wouldn’t waste the energy, either to run my sword through you, or to clean your blood from the blade afterwards. The blood of better men has been spilled at my hand, and you are not worth a place in my body count.” Athos squeezed his throat and moved his face closer. “But that is not to say that I won’t see you punished, before I take you to be hung.” In swift succession, Athos slammed his knee between Marchal’s legs and crashed a fist into his face. Marchal dropped to the floor, groaning piteously as Athos turned away and walked to his friends.

“Anyone else?”

“Ooh, me first!” Aramis advanced on him, with a grinning Porthos quickly following.

Athos moved to D’Artagnan. “And you?”

“I’ll let them finish first. Are you ok?” D’Artagnan looked him over with concern, knowing he wasn’t physically hurt, but not trusting the man’s emotions to leave him alone. He was relieved to receive a smile in return.

“I’m great.” To both their surprise, Athos pulled D’Artagnan to him and kissed him briefly, for a moment not caring that the others were in the room. Until, of course, they heard Aramis’ sarcastic ‘aw’ behind them.

Athos tried to glare at his old friend, but couldn’t as he was met with a genuine smile. Glancing down at Aramis’ feet he saw that a few more punches, and knowing Porthos a couple of kicks, had been levelled at their prisoner. With a nod, Athos told Aramis to lift him – it was time to go. They dragged him to his feet, Porthos and Aramis holding him tightly between them.

“D’Artagnan?” Athos turned to the man beside him.

With a grin, the youngest member of their group approached Marchal, lifting his dropping head and making sure he was paying attention.

“Do you know something, you twisted, miserable bastard? People don’t appreciate being sold. But I think you’re going to appreciate your death even less. I’m sure we can arrange for something a little more drawn out than hanging, don’t you gentlemen?” There were murmurs of agreement all around him. “Excellent. But, in the meantime...” 

D’Artagnan crashed his fist into Marchal’s face, breaking his nose and knocking him out cold.

He turned and grinned at Athos. “That’s better. Let’s go home.”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

Later that afternoon Aramis, Porthos and Athos sat in the yard, a bottle of wine in front of them. Marchal was in a cell, hopefully panicking about the death that was coming his way, and Treville was on his way to tell the King what had happened. It was truly over.

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Athos, that’s the third time you’ve asked. He’ll be fine.” Porthos sighed.

“Are we going to have to go through this every time the boy goes somewhere on his own?” Aramis chuckled, but stopped when Athos glared at him from the seat beside him.  
“Have you forgotten recent events already?”

“I was just teasing.” Aramis held his hands up in peace, and Athos looked a little ashamed of himself.

“I know. Sorry.”

Aramis grinned at Porthos. “An apology from Athos? Now if this is a change our young friend is going to bring about then I for one am more than happy he turned up!”

This time Athos just shoved Aramis on the shoulder with one hand, sending him tumbling from the bench they shared.

“Hey!”

Porthos shook his head at his friends, laughing. Things were getting back to normal.

“Hey guys.”

They looked over to the gates to see an exhausted looking D’Artagnan coming into the yard. He made his way over to them, taking the seat next to Athos that was now empty, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched.

“How did it go?” Athos desperately wanted to take D’Artagnan’s hand and offer him comfort, but this was a close as they could get in the public yard.

D’Artagnan sighed. “As you would expect. And yet not, I suppose.” He reached for Athos’ wine, draining the cup before he elaborated. “She’s not sorry to lose him, she wasn’t happy you know. She was upset that he was dead though, then horrified when I told her the truth about him. I think she’s embarrassed, to be honest. I mean, she married a man who never really existed, you know? She was sick when she realised what he was up to. It wasn’t pleasant.”

Aramis took a seat beside Porthos and spoke quietly. “What will she do?”

“She’ll hold her head up high and carry on, won’t she? She’s Constance.” D’Artagnan couldn’t keep the pride from his voice as he thought about his friend. She would be fine, helped a little by the knowledge that very few people knew the truth. 

They sat for a few minutes in silence, before Porthos stood.

“A night out I think. You ready?”

Aramis stood instantly, while D’Artagnan glanced at Athos.

“You go ahead.” Athos said. The others nodded and walked away, Porthos looking trying to hide his disappointment.

“I take it we’re going with them?” D’Artagnan spoke before Athos had time to pass on his thoughts.

“They need it. We need it. I know I said I just wanted to get you home, but I think the four of us need some time together.”

“I agree. We’ll be at home later anyway, won’t we?” D’Artagnan stood, waiting while Athos did the same. They turned to walk to the gates of the garrison. “Porthos! Aramis! Wait up!” D’Artagnan shouted on the others before they walked out of sight. They stopped instantly, waiting patiently. 

D’Artagnan continued. “I am glad that I get to go home with you though.”

“Me too. When I think it might never have happened, it makes me feel quite ill.” Athos spoke quietly, still a little embarrassed at speaking about his feelings.

“You do realise that you won’t be getting rid of me any time soon?” D’Artagnan nudged Athos with his hip.

Athos grinned. “I’m counting on it. Forever do you?” With that he walked away, leaving D’Artagnan staring after him, mouth agape. He shook off his shock and ran to catch up, arriving in time for Athos meeting Aramis and Porthos.

The four friends wandered off a nearby tavern, a celebratory drink well earned, and much needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Sorry it took so long to write, but hopefully it was worth it. Please let me know. I also haven't checked it for errors, so point out any biggies you see!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me and following this through to the end! For all the kudos and the kind comments, I humbly thank you! You have kept me going.
> 
> I'm trying to think of ideas of what to do next, so please let me know if you have any you want written.
> 
> Banana xx :)


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